


Death's Grace

by lilpumpkingirl



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilpumpkingirl/pseuds/lilpumpkingirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story set in Dragon Age 2. AU. Sam, a woman not of the world of Thedas, but a world much like our own has been an Imperium slave for over a decade. With secrets and ghosts literally haunting her, she happens upon Hawke and her gang. How will she effect this world of myth? Better yet, how can the worlds effect each other when the barriers are stretched so thin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Another Slave. Or Not...

\- 1 -

Just Another Slave. Or Not...

_I held my breath. My goal was there... just out of my reach. And if only I moved slowly. Soundlessly. He would be unaware of me. I took a small breath. The fresh spring air tickled my nose, tasting of honey-suckle and apples. The wet grass under my bare feet was a bright sea of green all around me. In my haste I almost tripped on a hidden root that poked out from the earth and my hand went out, touching the smooth bark of the birch tree as I caught myself. Hiding my soft giggle behind my small hand, I peeked out behind the slender white-tan trunk that stretched high into the sky above me._

_My prey._

_He was there, waiting for me. Laying in an open field of cut grass. Perhaps it was the sound of my bare feet crunching against twigs or more likely my soft giggles, but he opened one eye and smirked as he glanced sideways at me. Squealing, I hid back behind one of the thin trees, my golden-strawberry pig-tails swinging behind me._

_"What are you doing over there, Sammy?" His light tenor voice carried on the breeze to me. I giggled again._

_"Nothing..."_

_"Really now?" he said casually, the amusement clear in his voice, "I thought you were supposed to 'beh very very quiet' when hunting..." his tone at the end mimicking that iconic hunter that always chased after Bugs Bunny._

_I started sneaking out around the other side, trying to stop myself from giggling, but the fits always found some way out of me. With each step I came closer, readying to jump on him as he lay there in the field sunning himself like some fat farm cat full from lapping his cream. Four yards. Three... Two... Before I could pounce, however, he suddenly sprang up onto his feet. He picked me up before gently 'tackling' me to the ground. His large hands went for my sides, tickling me and I screamed in delight, kicking and flailing around. Trying my best to get away, but it was no use. I was his slave. His tickle slave. It seemed no matter how much I tried to best him he always won. Why?_

_"What do you say, Sammy?"_

_Tears filled my green-blue eyes as my sides started to hurt. I pressed my lips together and bit down lightly, no way was I going to say it. I wouldn't give up. Never! Every time he would try to get me to say it, and every time I wouldn't. I would be balling and he would finally be the one to give in. This time wouldn't be different. And as if he sensed this he stopped with a sigh and propped himself up next to me, watching me with his own green-blue eyes that I thought were bluer than mine. His mopy sandy hair with hints of red looked to sparkle in the sun as he brushed a free strand my hair from my face._

_"Don't every say uncle, Sammy. Never give up, okay?" His normally kind eyes took on an almost sad spark and I smiled even more._

_"It's okay, Dean. They won't separate us..." I grabbed his hand. "We will always be together."_

_He smiled, but the sadness remained. "How do you do it, sis? After everything? Mother and father... the adoption..." He looked away, back into the birch forest we called the 'enchanted forest'._

_"I just believe and it will be." I squeezed his hand, though it probably felt like nothing to him. "Nothing can come between us if we believe."_

_"I wish that were so..." He gave a tired chuckled and looked down at her. "Sometimes I wonder who the older one is here." He rested onto his back next to me and we looked up at the white cotton candy filled sky. "You're so wise for a nine years old and here I am, twelve, and don't know anything."_

_I laughed happily as I poked him in the side. "You're wise... you just don't know it."_

_We fell into a peaceful silence as I tried to place what the clouds were shaped as. A commercial air-plane passed overhead interrupting such thoughts and I glanced at him, seeing the shadow that crossed his face and knew he was thinking of the accident. I moved. Sitting up as I pulled my necklace out from under my shirt and grabbed his, linking the unique crafted pieces together. His containing the emerald, mine the sapphire. They had been our parents'. Something they had made back in their high school days as a symbol for their love and friendship._

_"Look... they are with us. Watching over us. Can't you feel them?" I asked softly._

_He shook his head. "I don't have that strange magical sense you have, Sammy. Are they close now?"_

_I wanted to tell him he was wrong. That if he all but tried he too could feel them, feel the magick in this world hidden beneath. But I kept my mouth shut. Instead I closed my eyes, stilling my mind and relaxed. I reached out, not afraid and felt something near me. A tingling sensation in the back of my mind and I saw that pale glow. It was something I could never explain fully. Of course I had tried... I tilted my head, smelling lavender and mint. I shook my head as odd whispers too low for me to hear drifted in my mind._

_Sighing, I opened my eyes to find him watching me. "No, just Grammy. But they are here..." I placed my other hand on his heart._

_Remaining silent, he nodded before his gaze went to our necklaces. Mommy and Daddy never truly believed in my connection to this hidden world where spirits rested. They humored me. But Gammy and Dean believed. They noticed all the peculiar things that seemed to happen around me. At a fair once a woman who said she was a gypsy told me I had a gift... but the voices told me she was no gypsy -though she too had a gift like mine, only weaker. A cloud passed over the sun, casting us in shadow and I shivered, looking up. A small tentacle of fear crept through me. I felt chilled and the whispers became urgent. Why? I wasn't sure. They didn't make sense all that often. But I suddenly felt the need to do something important._

_"Let's pinky promise never to stop searching for each other..." I held out my hand, fist lightly clenched i other than my smallest finger. "... just in case."_

_He opened his eyes, studying me before making his own fist and linking his pinky with mine. "Just in case, I will not stop even in death."_

.~-~.

She jerked awake from the dream, sitting upright in the rough bedroll, voice cracking, "Why? After so long... Why?"

Hasty fumbling fingers dove beneath armor. She yanked out that sapphire gemmed necklace, embracing it in her pale hand as she lay back down and calmed her racing heart. The blanket of stars could be seen above her, vivid on the cloudless night and she felt an ancient tightening in her chest, a wicked snake from the past, constricting and choking her until her eyes watered and she could barely breathe. A feeling she thought long dead.  _Why after so long must I dream of him?_ She closed her dull green-blue eyes, fighting the dread and anguish least it swallow her whole like that story of Moby Dick Grammy used to tell her before bed when she was younger. Yet memories continued to crawl their way up from the darkness. Memories she had buried to stay sane all these years sprang forth in her mind like some wretched dark gremlin from a grave or perhaps in this world a demon wanting her body...

She sighed. Deciding to simply lay there and hold her necklace tightly to her chest. Clutching her only anchor to the past. A past that appeared less real the more she lived in this world of fantasy and myths. Taking a deep breath, she found the cold crisp wind and rich forest smells calming and she quickly purged the thoughts from her mind, not wanting to think about such things. She didn't need more ghosts. God -or the Marker as they called him here- knew she had enough of those. Besides, there was maybe two hours until the sun rose. She would need to be up again with the crack of dawn and on her way to the City of Chains (an old nickname given for the slave trade that the city had once been known for during the times the Tevinter ruled the most of Thedas) if she wanted to keep her headway. She closed her eyes, but found any sort of rest was... pointless. Sleep simply wouldn't be attained. Not with the faint light of her past casting shadows on her soul.

"Best if I get moving then..." she grumbled softly as she forced her thin battered body to sit up. With a weary sigh, she placed the necklace under her leather armor. Readying herself to start another day.  _At least I'll get an even greater lead this way..._  But her voice even sounded hollow to her.

Camp was quick to pick up when you were only one. A single bed roll. A small pack. A tiny dismal dead fire. Yup, was most definitely easy. She grabbed some dry shrubs and tossed it over her dead fire to cover her tracks, spending almost an hour making certain everything appear as she first found it. Hopefully no one would be the wiser if they passed the area. Finally shouldering her pack and the rolled up bed roll tied beneath, she gave the wooded mountain grounds one last glance before she pulled her hood up and turned, heading southwest to Kirkwall.

Making her way down a particularly steep incline, she slipped, sliding down a dozen yards before coming to a stop with the help of a rock and her face. She groaned as she picked herself up and gingerly felt the cut on the side of her head.  _What I wouldn't give for a horse... Hell, I'd settle for a car._  But she didn't think a car would blend in and that was something she really needed to do at the moment. Still the thought of driving in a -weren't some called Jeeps?- all across Thedas and seeing the looks on everyone's face would be... amusing to say the least. At least more than her falling headlong into a boulder.

Rising to her feet, she gave herself a look over, finding minor scuffs in her already tattered clothes, but everything appeared to be accounted for.  _Pack._  She patted the bottom of the bag at her back.  _Check._   _Bedroll, check._   _Sword._ Her hand went to the hilt of the curved akin katana sword attached between her pack and her back.  _Yup, not that it was likely..._

 _Dignity?_ Rolling her shoulders, she sighed.  _Mildly wounded, but yes, check._ Her breath froze for a second as did her body before her hands surged up to her armor and searched for her necklace beneath. When her bony fingers felt the warm metal, she sighed again, but this time with relief.  _I need to pay better attention..._  No what she needed was a better shelter so she could get restful sleep for once that would allow her to be more thoughtful of herself. She was strong, but even her body had its limits.

Knowing that if she stayed out one more night it would be risky for her, she pushed on and headed down the incline and out of the mountains towards Kirkwall. The thought of the city made her uneasy. Yes, she needed shelter and food. But she needed crowds and people that could accidently make her like she needed a whole in the head. And it was also not her first trek into  _this_  city... only her first one on her own. She prayed no one with ties to the Imperium would realize who she was. That carefully kept lead would be nullified instantly and when she only had one set of weary eyes that failed at detecting a stupid tree root barely hidden in a layer of forest litter... Yup, going into a city with even the slightest tie to what she was trying to escape was dangerous.

But she wasn't completely alone on this. The whispers she had heard as a child -ones that had grown to a roar once entering this world- told her she was safe, that no one was following her.  _Yet,_  at least. She knew she still had to be careful, but she trusted them, had to after all she had been through. There was no one else she could trust except for them, the only ones who she could rely on in this world that at most times she failed to understand, trapped as she was with her soul that didn't belong. They would let her know if trouble was near. Their warnings were the only way she had been able to stay this far ahead this long.

The sun rose, moving across the sky at an almost perpendicular line to hers, but she hardly noticed. Her tired eyes closing every-so-often as she continued her journey. When she finally reached Kirkwall the sun hung around midway in the sky, making little to no shadows as the glowing orb flared overhead. Entering the main gate she stopped and covered her gritty eyes as her gaze scanned around and forced herself to be more alert. Suspicious of everyone and anything. This world. This odd world was not a kind world. Not that the one she had come from was ever wholly kind (you know with the atomic bombs, genocides and what not), but at least the country she once lived in everyone was treated with equal rights (or they attempted to give equal rights). Having spent a decade as a slave, one could say she knew the differences between these two worlds painfully well.

She started to move further into the city. Satisfied that no one was attentive enough to see her. As she moved she went unnoticed by all. A baker that stared right at her as he rolled his cart of freshly heaven-scented bread passed only felt a puff of air as her hand snatched out and she grabbed the smallest roll. Children laughed and played around and  _through_ her. An older woman hobbled as she held onto her son's arm, complaining about how he never visited her that often almost walked through her too. She stopped. Hastily tearing into the roll with her dirt encased fingers and ate to subdue the pains in her stomach as she let them pass. Not wanting to give the elder the chill of death.

Even the most skilled rogues would be hard pressed to stand as she was in the middle of a brightly lit crowd and yet be invisible but to the most observant of eyes. It was a skill she had obtained years ago. One that made her little more than a ghost as she pulled the realm of the dead to her, making the chill of the grave cling to her cloak and body. Straddling the sides of life and death was undeniably a handy ability as it made finding her more than difficult for those who hunted her. And like with the children, she could pass through people when she was like this. While a weird sensation to both parties (leaving them cold and her tingling with their warmth), it was not harmful. She eyed the old woman and the son that had passed and continued walking. Well, not generally harmful... There were those nearing their end that could accidently be pulled in through the bridge she made to the dead. She wasn't going to help anyone on to this realm of death and decay if she could help it today.

As she headed through the heart of the city, she found herself surveying everything with her altered vision -a side effect of what kept her near invisible. This different sight was one that made everything appear decayed. Windblown stone, crumbling brick and rotting wood. The rot of death. It was not a pretty view. On the other hand this other sight did allow her to see the souls the living kept, souls that radiated their glowing colors of the rainbow. Reds. Yellows. Blues. And oh-so much more mixing and swirling together under the surface of thin cracked skin. It was amazing what one could learn from seeing each personal aurora. It was also an awe inspiring sight, really, if she took the time to think about all the colors and what they meant in comparison to the death around her. Unfortunately she didn't have such a luxury and pressed on stepping over a part in the road that appeared more decayed than the rest.

While this ability was helpful in more ways than keeping her hidden, if she wasn't careful she could actually break the decaying objects in the realm of the dead and accidently affect the living realm. Whenever she straddled both realms like this she became a bridge, but it was when she went further into the land of the dead that she could physically interact with it. And while she wasn't that far into the realm of death it was better to be safe than sorry.

She stopped as she entered the part the citizens deemed Lowtown and looked around the poorer market. She was looking for a tavern.  _What is it called? Hanged Man?_  Name didn't matter to her. She only wanted a place over her head and warm food for once. That small roll had hardly been enough to sustain herself and anything would be better than that hunk of hard bread and cheese that she had to keep cutting the mold off of to eat. She winkled her nose at the thought.  _Is it bad that I no longer gag at such a thought?_

Shaking her head, she pressed on, searching through the smaller crowds. She came to a stop at an old weathered door with the 'Hanged Man' written crudely over the top. With a quick glance behind her she went into the building, only opening the door enough for her to slip through. For barely midday the place was rather packed.  _Well, ain't that peachy? Don't these people have anything better to do?_ It amazed her sometimes how some could waste their time in places such as this. Wasted their lives away. If she had the freedom to be out in the open like that, doing as she pleased. It certainly wouldn't be in a smelling, dim lighted tavern like this.

Off to the corner a group of four men sang horribly off key in their drunken stupor and shook her from her thoughts. Other groups of mostly two and a few singles kept to themselves, scattered throughout. No one turned upon her entering and thankful for that, she made her way towards the bar where a woman sat flirting shamelessly with two other men. Chesnutt hair and golden eyes, the woman had a body men dreamt over. Something she obviously knew as she carelessly leaned over flaunting her assets. The tavern wench wore something she would never be caught dead in considering it was a simple piece of cream cloth styled as a tunic, with a black leather corset that trusted her breasts up further, a simple blue cloth belt and thigh high boots. How this woman didn't end up flashing anyone without pants was beyond her.

Sliding smoothly into a chair on the other end of the bar slightly kiddy corner to the bar wench and the two men, she allowed her pack to slide off her shoulders and hung it on the chair. No way in hell was she setting it on the floor. Even as she sat, she eyed the grimy boards warily. Disgusted by all the crushed nuts and the stickiness she felt each time she lifted up her knee-high black boots. And let's not get started about that awful stench that permeated the place. Piss, alcohol, sweat, and other things she cared not name made a retching cocktail that waffered up from the wood floor. Did she really need food and shelter this bad?  _Yes, yes I do..._

Keeping the groan inside, she let her connection to the realm of the dead go and the biting unnatural wind that normally came with said connection ceased. She shivered in the warmth of the living as she became suddenly noticeable to those around her and even startling a few. She was far too gone mentally to care about this slip up as her exhausted mind remained on the floor.  _I seriously don't think anything could get that smell out of the wood... It has to be soaked into the floorboards. Yuck._

"What can I help ya with, meh dear?" a pig of a woman asked, yanking her from her thoughts and mentally she scolded herself for forgetting herself and for also characterizing someone so harshly. But could she help it if the bar keep did look like a pig? Short and pudgy with her dull ash hair pulled up into what she would consider an attempt at a bun, with a round face and an up-turned nose. Not to mention rather large ears that stuck out a little too far from her head...

"Can I get whatever you're serving today?"

"Of course ya can."

The bar keep went over to a hearth on the far wall where a stew of some sort was kept warm as she slid her right foot under her, sitting on it before bringing her other foot up and putting the heel on the chair as she dug into her boot for coin. She slapped it on the table as the woman came back with some brown goo in a wooden bowl. Keeping her foot up and simply wrapping her arm around her leg, pulling it close, she bit the tips of her fingers to tug off her leather glove and then the other before setting them next to her on the bar. She cared not what the goo tasted like as she seized the bowl and started wolfing it down.  _Interesting flavor... certainly is not the best thing I ever had._ Then nothing in this world could ever compare to the food of her home. But dreaming of cheese burgers and fries from McDonalds never helped anyone and she had long since lost the ability to even recall what such food actually tasted like other than it had been better. Among their standards this goop wasn't even that great, but considering she had been without any real substance for so long she couldn't really complain.

She could feel stares of those at the bar and the pig woman as she set the bowl back down not even five minutes later. The woman reached for it. "How about I get you some more?... on me, child."

She muttered a soft thank you and the bar keep nodded as she turned away. Hugging her leg, she rested her chin on her knee. With this place so full she was starting to question her chance at getting a room here. It would be her luck that there wasn't any. Sighing, she nodded to the woman who set the wooden bowl back down before her, this time eating it slower seeing as her initial hunger had been quenched. She let her thoughts wonder, not always a good thing for her to do, but after a year or so on the run she was only now starting to break free from the learned traits she had gained as a slave... One being the ability to find a little moment to relax. It was easier for her than others, given she had a free life before and one so radically different than this place. There was no way she could forget her life or freedom before, but she still found herself doing some of those annoying subservient quarks.

The shameless woman -who she could only characterize as the slut- brushed off the two men with her like pesky flies as she slipped from her stool and sauntered over to her. She leaned against the bar, her golden eyes alight with mischief as she peered up under the hood making the mysterious hooded figure shift, uncomfortable with how close she was, but other than that refused to show it. At first she didn't look at the bar wench, ignored her and hoped she would go away, but the woman remained, smiling this smirk that was starting to get on the cloaked woman's nerves. Without having a word uttered to her she could tell the woman was the type that was full of themselves, acting it up to hide whatever small issue they had. It wasn't a type she all to cared for. But then there weren't many types she did. She found the dead much better company.

"So..." the wench drawled, "Where may you be from?"

Finishing her second helping, she set the bowl on the bar before sliding it away, refusing to look at her. "I may be from a place called, Sod-off."

"Oh? You got a spark in you." The wench chuckled. "Is that in the kingdom of Mind-your-blighted-own? Cause I think I've been there a time or two."

The hooded woman grunted, not allowing herself to smile a little. "It may be."

"Where you from? I don't recognize the accent," the wench asked again as she sat on the stool next to the mysterious woman, fingers rubbing the worn wood of the bar as she glanced over her again. "I've never seen someone sit on a chair like that either... and let me tell you, I've been about anywhere."

"I would believe that..." The cloaked woman smirked, tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh-ho, I like you." She laughed, slapping the bar top.

Finally meeting her honey-gold gaze, the mysterious woman realized that if she didn't satisfy this wench's curiosity she wasn't going to go anywhere. "I can say with certainty that you haven't been where I'm from."

The wench gave a playful pout. "Oh... and you're not going to give me more?"

"Why should I?" she countered as she stared at the bar. "You're just some nosey tavern wench."

Said tavern wench smirked, not in the least insulted. "Correction, pirate wench... captain pirate wench who has no ship at the moment, but that matters not."

The cloaked woman's brow rose at that and she looked the other woman over again. "I didn't figure you had the money or the connections, but I guess you could sleep your way into getting a ship."

The barb rolled right off her as the ex-pirate shrugged. "Na, I was married off to some old man who died and left me with his ship."

That actually made sense. A young woman married against her will. Now that she was free she was living it up like she never could have before. The hooded woman sighed. "Look, I don't want a friend. I'm only seeking shelter as I pass through."

"Well, you won't find a room here..." The pirate wench leaned forward, her fingers trailing down the other woman's arm seductively. "... but if you keep up with that sharp tongue of yours I might just let you bunk with me."

She jerked away scowling. "I don't play that way, pirate."

Pouting again, the pirate mumbled, "Drat, well... I do have another bed in the room. But I was so looking forward to having a  _snuggle_  mate tonight." The cloaked woman rolled her eyes and the pirate sighed, leaning back and folded her arms behind her head. "What's your name? I'm Isabela."

The hooded woman opened her mouth, almost saying her slave name only to catch herself. That name was too well known and she was trying to hide... Though she kept asking herself why she was even bothering with this. "Sam."

"Sam?" Isabela's brow wrinkled. "What an odd name. Is that short for anything? Samara?"

"It's short for something..." Sam didn't offer anything else.

The brown-haired woman leaned on her elbows, weaving her fingers together before resting her chin on them. "And the mystery thickens. Hey, Rosy! Get us a drink!"

.~-~.

Sam stepped into the pirate wenches room hours later and surveyed it.  _Why did I agree to this again?_  Right... this Isabela was a charming smooth talker that she found herself rather liking. That and she was dead on her feet, to sleep deprived to care that she was being pulled into something she normally would stay clear of. Besides, the spirits told her all was clear with this woman and she was only going to be here a night or so while she secured a passage to Ferelden. And slept!

"So what do you think?" Isabela asked as she leaned against the open door frame.

Tossing her pack carelessly to a bed that was clearly not used, Sam glanced at her. "Not as dirty as I expected..."

The pirate smirked. "I may be a wench, but I'm a clean wench."

Sam felt she was hinting at something else, but didn't care to think on it and brought her hood down before pulling off the cloak, letting it follow her pack onto the bed. Taking one more look around her surroundings, she felt the other woman's golden eyes on her and her gaze went to her find a somewhat surprised look on her face before she schooled it into a smile. Sam knew what her appearance must look like. Golden strawberry-blond hair braided tightly to the back of her head. Oily from not having a bath coupled with dirt smudged on her face. She didn't have time to stop at a river, not after they found her last resting place. She also knew she needed to repair her black pants that had a few slits in them from enemy blades (and a few falls do to tired clumsy feet). Or maybe it was the fact that her top was black harden leather that covered around her neck, down over her breasts before stopping a good inch before her belly button, showing nearly all her back and consequently all the black markings. She showed a fair amount of skin, but at least all the important parts were covered. Or it could be that she was obviously starved... Yeah, probably that.

Sam's brow rose, questioning and Isabela pushed off coming closer. "Where did you get those tattoos on your arms and back?"

She stiffened, warning bells ringing through her head and she narrowed her green-blue eyes suspiciously. "Why?"

The pirate didn't answer right away, simply staring at her arms. Sam thanked God or the Maker or whoever was in charge that she didn't touch her (then again she didn't believe anyone was in charge so that was silly of her). "Nothing... other than I have a friend who bares strikingly similar markings." Her eyes sparkled. "They are white... and cover his  _whole_  body. Though I'm not sure about the goods..."

Sam's eyes widen a fraction. "A lyrium-warrior? You know one?"

"Yes... His name is Fenris. Do you know him?" She circled Sam like some kind of predator, even licking her lips.

Sam shook her head as she folded my arms before her, feeling the need to cover herself up with the way this other woman studied her. "No, I never met one. Only have seen them in passing... Though I think I know of the Master he comes from."

She frowned, most likely at the word master. "Is yours lyrium as well?"

 _Should I answer that question?_  She didn't like how personal these questions were getting. The more someone knew about her the more in danger she was of being found... but then this pirate knew a lyrium-warrior. An ex-slave. Sam looked at her arms, looking at the swirling black patterns on too pale skin. The whispers told her she should trust the pirate. "I guess you could say it is..."

"Do you go all glowy? Or phase your hand through people and rip out their hearts?" Isabela, having lost that frown, became rather giddy.

"No..."  _At least not because of the lyrium._  But she didn't need to know that.

Isabela pouted, looking depressed by that. "Do you have any cool abilities?"

Fortunately Sam didn't have to come up with something to lie about, for a commotion from the main room interrupted this annoyingly personal chat about her. She watched as Isabela rushed from the room, drawing the daggers at her back. Wanting to know why there sounded like a battle happening, Sam took a few steps for the door to follow after only to pause at the threshold.  _Curiosity killed the cat..._  She reminded herself before throwing it aside and continuing. She jogged to the top of the stairs, blinking when she did indeed find an all out battle playing before her. Isabela -her new friend?- was squared off with a slaver. Fighting along with her in the chaos was a dwarf, a male mage with a little something extra, a woman with raven hair and blue eyes who was also a mage, and... the lyrium warrior who glowed a ghostly pale blue.

Unknowingly she held her breath as her eyes trailed over him. Yes, she had seen him before in passing... before he escaped years ago. She was tempted just to stay out of sight, having seen a certain Magister that could actually name her. But when he started calling demons and raising corpses, the spirits she held within her and around her wailed feverously at the injustice of him using corpses like that and binding their dead souls to said bodies. That and she was hungry. No, not the hungry like normal food... The hunger she got from the burden and spirits she carried. It had been a few months since she had fed like that... It was time to replenish her energy stores or else things could get hairy.

She called her faithful companions to her, wrapping the realm of the dead and ghosts around her body like a second skin and used their unnatural powers to charge herself forward and down the stairs in one step, attacking the nearest demon. Her sword appeared almost translucent when she pulled it out, channeling the spirits into the blade as she slashed and then stabbed through the demon's core. The monster gave a high pitched scream only the dead could hear as the blade killed it. The spirits would appear to anyone else who was paying attention to her like a faint white-blue glow as they reached out, drawing the demons essence and what she guess you could call their 'life' into the sword. She on the other hand could actually see the spirits, see as their hands yanked the life free from the demon and channeled it into the swirling lines on her blade, lighting them up white. The energy traveled up the sword to the hilt before being transferred into her right arm and up the black tattoos, making them glow a faint red.

Sensing her presence, sensed the threat, the rest of the demons in the room focused on her, which suited Sam perfectly, the more the better. At the rate she was killing them she wouldn't need to rejuice for some time.  _Well... not unless I used my powers too much._

Sam knew the others could see her, watching when they could between fighting what remained of the slavers and corpses as they tried to reach Danarius. But she could care less. The new energy was chasing away the exhaustion she had felt for this past year. The hunters after her knew not to summon spirits for this very reason, which meant she hadn't had a feast like this in a long while... that and she wasn't really showing them much. To them it simply looked like the demons vanish after she stabbed them and a small blue flash. Though... if she wasn't careful she could take in too much and her eyes would get a little hard to explain. Not often someone had what looked like liquid mercury or mirror akin eyes...

With the last demon down, Sam turned her attention to Danarius. His gray eyes were large, startled that she was there and casted one last fireball at the raven haired woman and that male mage that had some sort of light essence in him that was tainted by the humans own emotions. He turned his attention on Sam, knowing what she was and fear kindled in his eyes. _Damn right you should fear me._  She held no love for Magisters, but this one was fairly high on the ones she wouldn't mind killing if given the chance. And it seemed her luck wasn't as horrible as she thought it was...

Danarius sliced his hand, resorting to his strongest blood magick to attack her. She rolled out of the way, but it followed her and she was forced to use the dead realm to move faster. She appeared behind him, his bubble of magick worthless against her seeing as she was immune to a lot of magick and she stabbed him through the heart with her blade and twisted, making sure it was as painful as possible. Not that what was going to come after wasn't painful...

Sam leaned forward, mouth close to his ear as she whispered for only him to hear, "Your soul is mine, Magister."

She watched as the spirits around her hungrily pulled his red and brown soul covered in black slug (from him using blood magick) from the mortal shell and instead of directing him into the sword, pulled him completely into the realm of the dead and binding him to her. Now... there's one thing to clarify here. It did not matter how evil the person or their aurora was, their soul would always come out white. It's an odd concept that she never understood, but that is how it is. So when the spirits captured Danarius' soul, his body shimmered white as his soul left him, and her black tattoos glowed redder than before as his souls energy bound to her. She yanked her sword from his already cooling body, lashing it backwards in a way that cleared all the blood from it before sheathing it. She turned away, trying to hide her eyes that had to have turned somewhat silver and allow herself time to cool down before facing Isabela or these people who must be the pirate's friends. Luckily they were still fighting the remaining stragglers.

Sam was even contemplating fleeing to Isabela's room when the spirits warned her that someone was about to kill an innocent. She glanced sideways, eyes falling on a red haired elf who was picking herself from the ground. The innocent. Or so the spirits deemed. There were whispers of something else but she could not understand them, nor had the time when the lyrium-warrior, surged forward, going for the frail elf woman who was probably the age of Sam's brother. The blue white vines on Fenris' skin glowed with his rage as he asked why she betrayed him... Sam listened to both as the tension grew in the room, but found no real fault in the other woman. Her life was horrid, not that she don't think the elf woman didn't do anything wrong or what she did was good. Just that she didn't deserve to die. Besides, Sam could see her guilt. This sister would have to live the rest of her life knowing she betrayed her only living relative.

With the spirits already close, Sam pushed deeper into their realm as she step forward just as the lyrium-warrior was about to put his hand through his sister's chest. His hand was phased, but she grabbed his wrist, pulling it off course. She heard everyone gasp, startled that she was able to touch him when he was phased and by how fast she moved. Without looking she could also feel the shock from Fenris, but she ignored him. Ignored all of them. Eyes on the elf woman with flaming red hair.

"Say your peace and go." Her voice was cold. She held no compassion for this woman, only that the spirits demanded she saved her. You could say the spirits and her lived in a balance of symbiosis. Living and feeding off each other for both their benefits. One thing they demanded of her was that she save who they deemed worthy of saving. Annoying complication sometimes, but there was nothing she could do.

The sister swallowed, nodding as her gaze shifted beyond Sam's left shoulder. "Fenris, you have no idea what we went through. What I've had to do since Mother died. This was my only chance." She shook her head, looking down at the blood stained ground. "You said you didn't ask for this, but it's not true. You wanted it. You competed for it. When you won you used the boon to have Mother and I freed." Having nothing else to say, she started for the door, letting the silence hand think in the air, only to hesitate a few steps away and glanced back at him. "Freedom was no boon. I look on you now and I think you received the better end of the bargain."

With that the sister left and Sam released Fenris' wrist. Everyone remained silent, and deciding she needed to not only leave this room, but this city, she turned towards the stairs. The spirits were flittering around and about this man, uneasy with his rage. She wanted none of these problems. She had enough to deal with.

"I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong." His miserable tone made Sam slow, coming to a stop to listen. "Magick has tainted that, too. There is nothing for me to reclaim. I am alone."

"You have friends, Fenris," the woman mage said softly. If Sam was correct her name was, Hawke? She had overheard it a few times during the fight.

"It sure isn't me," the male mage, Anders(?), retorted quickly, disgust in his voice.

"Broody... we are your friends." The dwarf took a few steps towards Fenris, shouldering his crossbow. Sam couldn't remember any one saying his name...

"You heard what Varania said. I wanted these. I fought for them. I feel unclean, like this magick is not only etched into my skin, but has also stained my soul."

 _Melodramatic much?_ Sam rolled her eyes and was unable to stop herself from commenting, "Hn. Magick is not the issue. You have failed to recognize that your problem lies in the nature of man."

"And who are you to say this? What do you know?" he growled, glaring at the back of her head.

Sam cursed herself for saying anything, but turned slowly to face him anyway, crossing her before her. "Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely is a famous quote from where I came from. And it's true. Whether that is the power of a king, a magister, a mage... or simply someone who is stronger. All are the same. Those who are weaker will always be oppressed by the stronger. As for who I am..." She shrugged. "Has nothing to do with this. You are letting your rage for mainly one man and his few peers to do the real tainting of your soul. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be leaving now..."

She was about to turn when he charged her, his lyrium markings glowing again as his clawed gloves wrapped around her neck, lifting her a few inches off the ground. He growled lowly, "You know nothing!"

Sam tilted her head up, looking down her nose at him as she glared back, eyes becoming greener with her own kindling emotions. Showing she was unafraid as she let her hands hang at her sides. What did she know? What a foolish question. It was like he believed he knew everything and everyone else knew nothing.  _What a self centered man?_  Part of her wanted to throw her whole story in his face, knock him not only down but lay him flat on the ground at her feet. But she knew better. Not only would that reveal far too much than she was willing to give, but a man like him wouldn't see reason until he lost something in the most painful of ways.

Isabela stepped forward. "Um... Fenris. I think she knows more than you think."

He shook Sam a little and she felt his gloves pinching, cutting into her skin. She smirked, something that angered him more, but she swiftly pulled the realm of death to her and allowed the grave essence into her before he could do anything else to her. When she disappeared, he blinked startled when he held onto nothing but air. The others stared, surprised. Fenris felt a chill down his spin only for Sam to appear behind him, leaning with her back against his. He tensed, glancing back at her, scowling, but did not move.

"I'm amazed you haven't killed yourself with such uncontrollable emotions ruling your powers." Sighing, she reached up, gently touching the cut that was bleeding before looking at it, rubbing the blood between her fingers.

"Who are you? How did you do that?" he bit off, the words coarse.

Sam didn't answer. Letting him stew with his rage only for Isabela to answer him, "She's a slave... like you, Fenris. From the Imperium..."

 _Thanks, Isabela..._  she muttered sarcastically in her head, giving the woman a displeased look before sighing and looked at the few others not a part of this group who just heard her. Now she would have to keep moving.  _So much for rest._

"And still trying to shake the one who deem themselves my masters." Sam moved, walking around him and roughly bumping into him as she passed by. "I think this is a sign that I should leave, but..." She stopped at the foot of the stairs, turning back to meet his dark green gaze. "Word of advice, enjoy life while you can..." She started up the stairs, running through her head what she could possibly do next. Most ships that were going to leave would have before the coming storm she had heard muttered around the markets earlier...

"Wait, Sam!" Isabela called out, jogging to the stairs. "Why leave? We can help you ..."

She chuckled darkly. "I doubt that very much."

"Is that lyrium?" Fenris asked suddenly, for now his rage had dissipated with the shock.

"As I told horny britches, in part, yes... No, it doesn't give me my powers, and no, there is nothing you can possibly say to make me stay."

The dwarf laughed as Isabela followed after her, asking, "Where shall you go?"

"Anywhere I can go..." She shrugged, stopping at the top and faced the pirate partly. "Getting home is pure fantasy, but a girl can dream."

Isabela took the step up to the top and placed her hands on Sam's shoulders, everyone noticed her cringe, but the charming pirate didn't move away. "At least stay the night. If you get any skinner no man will take you and how'r you to pay your way?"

Sam's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Unlike you I don't lie down and take it to  _pay my way_ , Isabela."

"Oh, but what of the off chance that you have to! I can't let you go."

Sam frowned. "Why are you doing this? You don't know me."

"I'd like to know you..." The mysterious woman's brow rose and Isabela chuckled. "Okay fine, I'm only after your sexy body."

Sam groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose, thinking as the silence dragged on before finally caving into the pirate's demands. "One night. And can you let go... I don't like being touched."

_~~~~.~-~.~~~~_


	2. At Least

\- 2 -

At Least

Laughter rose in Varric's large room and Fenris took his eyes from the cards in his hands to stare across the table at their new  _stray_. Her long slender legs were propped up against the top of Varric's chair, small frame completely relaxed as she leaned against the arm of her own, watching the others and responding whenever asked a direct question or it was obvious they wished her to join in. She was blunt. Had no qualms about being crass. And had an undertone of this... joyousness that chased away her years as a slave. She was a happy person. There was no other way to describe her. Nor was it a fake happiness that some gave off to deflect others, Hawke being a fine example of that as she sat next to the mysterious woman. He had always known she tried to cover up her sadness or fears, but with Sam there it was made all that more noticeable that Lady Hawke was not happy.

Not that that was much of a surprise all things considered.

These thoughts, though, made him go off on tangents, wondering if she wasn't happy with Anders and why would she stay with him if so? Fenris knew some of the pain, in part, was due to him and turning away from her three or so years ago after she gave herself to him. He had hoped she would understand... maybe wait for him, but he missed his chance. Then again, she had always had this fake happiness, far longer than he had known her. It was her armor against a harsh world and a dark past. It was the death of her father and little sister. It was her twin leaving her when she needed him the most. It was... life really.

His mind would go in circles, focusing solely on Hawke... Or at least it should have been, but Sam drew his attention away. Something that happened more than he liked to admit. She was a bright burning star in a sea of dull gray, everyone seeming to feed off her energy. She made no complaints. Took what life gave her and made the best of it. Knowing  _"things could always be worst"_ , or so she said to them when she revealed some of her past after Isabela first dragged her in here unwillingly.

That's how he had spent the last few hours, his mind jumping back and forth between the two women. Comparing when he knew he shouldn't and most times begrudgingly found that his thoughts were on Sam. As much as she had given them of herself and her background, it was more telling the large amounts she  _didn't_  tell them. He wasn't sure if the others had noticed. Noticed how she would go around some questions, giving them something else to distract them from their original question, but he sure did. So far all they knew was that she had indeed come from the Imperium as a slave with over a decade of service, had not one but many masters (though one was certainly in charge), she gave no names of who those Magisters might be, however, and that her powers were not that of a mage but the veil was thin around her.

Oh, and least he forget the best part! Spirits seemed to gather around her. Justice had come out, drawing their attention to that not so little fact. Sounding, if anything, respectful, and it took them by surprise. Fenris had thought something... off about her. His skin did not hum with magick around her, but tingled with lyrium and something else. Sam hadn't been surprised, however, instead looking somewhat irritated that she was going to have to reveal something she hadn't want to, but just as quickly let it go... her no complaining-over-things-already-passed personality taking charge. She told them she had a  _"special connection of sorts"_  with the veil that allowed her to banish demons and that she had always felt this sort of presences around her but never fully understood it. Fenris had the distinct impression she wasn't telling the whole truth, but when Justice said nothing and Anders blinked confused at them as he gained control again, Fenris let it go.

Besides, while she had this lax attitude he could also see the strain her body was taking. She had dark circles under her eyes, skin taunt and pale. Isabela hadn't been lying when she said the woman was to skinny. With that revealing outfit of Sam's, he could see that for himself. Could see her bones. She looked so pallid and fragile. It amazed him how she was able to function let alone fight like she had, but then he shouldn't really be that surprised knowing his own time as a slave. It disturbed him, but he found himself worrying about her and her health. Was that really all someone needed to be to earn his trust? A slave?

All things considered, she fit perfectly into the group Hawke had gathered around her over the years, only this time it seemed to be more Isabela's doing than Hawke's. But Fenris didn't like it. This... this was almost a  _too_   _perfect_  fit. One he was leery of. While he may be drawn to her due to their connection of being Imperium slaves and her ease around that subject, he still didn't like this odd magick or... How had she maintained this happy personality? There had to be more to it!

"Hey, Fenris." Sebastian nudged him, bringing his attention back to the present. "It's your turn... or are you to busy eyeing our new pretty lady friend over there?"

Grumbling to himself, he met the others bet and the Prince chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped out of the current round. Fenris was glad no one else had noticed him watching her, but even so, one was far too many. He sighed, forcing his gaze to look at his cards and grimaced, realizing he should have dropped out too.  _Too late now._  The bets continued around the table until it was her turn and she tossed the coin carelessly as she smirked at something Isabela had said to Hawke and what the Champion had countered back with. Her eyes connected with his and her brow rose at his dark look he gave her. He held it, not wanting to be the first to avert his gaze, but he was growing increasing uncomfortable with how her now blue eyes with the faintest hint of green seemed to peer into his soul. How was it her eyes could be this dark emerald (much like his own) and the next this vivid ocean blue? Or any combination of the two colors in between? The only thing that never changed was the slight rusty orange around the black. Better question, how did he know that?

Jerking his eyes away, he studied his cards, wondering if there was any way to redeem his coin. It was probably a lost cause. With Isabela and Varric both playing his chances were already slim, but it seemed Sam -who had never played a game before tonight- had a knack for the game as well. She had no tells, none that he could find at least and it appeared neither Varric nor Isabela had found any either. Putting his cards face down on the table, he turned his attention to Sebastian who was still amused over what he caught him doing.

"What do you think?"

Needing no reference about what it was or rather who he was asking about, the Prince glanced at her. "I think she is... nice. A very happy person, which is surprising... You?"

"I don't trust her."

He chuckled again. "You don't trust anyone." Fenris crossed his arms, glaring at the streaks in the table. "Why do I get the impression this isn't a trust issue?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right..." Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Why don't you ask her how she does it?" Fenris shook his head making the Prince sigh. "You're the only one who hasn't asked anything... and all things considered you should be the one asking the most. If I have noticed than everyone has." When the elf still refused to say anything Sebastian took his drink from the table, sipping and set it down before muttering, "Stubborn broody elf."

Realizing what the chantry brother had in mind a little too late, he could do nothing when Sebastian cleared his throat and called out to her, "Sameh... From what I've heard of Tevinter I'm awed by your cheer. What is your secret?"

Fenris watched a slight shadow fell across her eyes, so small that he almost dismissed it. So maybe there was more to this woman? She looked at the Prince, then to Fenris before her stare feel on her hand. "I wasn't a slave until thirteen... and you can say the place I came from is not an easy one to forget." A sad smile appeared on her face as if the simple mention of it brought a flood of memories back.

"Now you did it, Choirboy, you made her sad." Sam grunted, amusement at Varric's comment and it pushed any sadness away. "Where is this place? Didn't you say you doubted you could get back, why?"

Sam met the dwarf's gaze, shrugging. "Those questions are one in the same really. I don't know where... this country is in relation to Thedas. I was unconscious."

"Ah..." Varric nodded. "I see, that would make getting back difficult. But wouldn't someone know? Traveling out of Thedas and back is not a common occurrence."

"No it isn't... but I'm not going to go back to the Imperium anytime soon to find out."

The group fell silent, absorbing this new information about her when Merrill spoke up, "Tell us about your home!"

Sam blinked, clearly this was something she had never been asked before. "Well... I don't really know where to start..."

"What was your home called? And your people?" She offered.

Sam shifted, moving so that a foot was under her, her fingers tapping on the arms of her chair as her brow creased in thought. "My country was called... America and the people Americans. We were a people founded by many other countries that expanded out to find more land, but the people themselves came for varying reasons, I was told. Some to get away from persecution of their beliefs. Some to start a new life. Others thinking they were going to get coin from it. In general I think it was mainly freedom though, freedom from parents, beliefs, a king, or from being poor, I don't think it mattered."

She finally looked up at them and Fenris realized the odd way she sat was to show her discomfort at the subject, something that was almost defensive. "At first we weren't our own country but ruled by a King in the kingdom... I think called British... Or Britta?" Voice trailing off with uncertainty, her gaze fell to the table.

"What happened?" Fenris found himself asking. She looked up at him.

"Uh... The Brits started demanding more coin to cover what they were losing because of a war with... some F named kingdom. I don't know what finally set the colonies off, but they finally rebelled and their first act was to sign a parchment declaring their freedom from the Brits and sent it to them."

"Like the Free Marches against Tevinter," he said.

The tapping of her fingers stopped as she thought about it before replying, "Yes and no... Our argument for freedom was that there should be no king or one all powerful ruler to dictate others lives as they see fit. Or that there was a group of people better than others... not because of magick. We believed that all men were created equal. And when we finally gained our freedom we set up a system where the people elected a senate who made the laws, then a president who is like a ruler but has to work within the laws set by senate and a small group of people who judged whether the laws were in line with the original founding rights and laws made by the colonies."

"That's... confusing..." Sebastian's tone was perplexed and Fenris couldn't blame him, he too was having difficulty grasping how people could rule themselves. "And slow."

"It was slow from what I can remember and understand, but it worked... for the most part." Sam shrugged.

"So a mage..." Anders started and everyone groaned. "... would be free? And treated equal in your country?"

She glanced at everyone, unsure why they were acting as they were. "If they followed within the laws, yes... they would be free."

Fenris sneered, "So they would allow blood magick and the senseless killing by Magisters?"

"No!" They stared at her startled by her raised voice and pride colored her words. "Magisters would never be allowed, murder of another person is not accepted and is even punishable by death if found guilty. As is beating someone or raping... anything that takes the rights of another away is punishable."

"I must not be hearing you right..." Hawke shook her head. "You actually had laws where anyone, even someone of importance killed someone they could themselves be killed for it? They wouldn't just buy their way out?"

"You heard me right. And no, some could try, but great lengths were taken so that no one could simply buy their way out.

"Andraste's flaming knickers, no wonder why you haven't forgotten... this place sounds like a whole other world." Varric's amazement was apparent to everyone.

Sam snorted. "You have no idea..."

Again Fenris got the feeling there was more she wasn't telling, especial with that amused look of hers. Like she had some inside joke they weren't privy too. As the conversation on this... America?... continued, he could see why she had no problems living a life that was not that of a slave. Since the day she was born she had been told she was her own individual, free to do and be whatever she wanted. Well, up until they snatched her. He couldn't imagine this world she spoke so passionately about. Where every child at the age of six went to a school, learning together for twelve years before they had to work. If not for Hawke he still wouldn't be able to read. He wouldn't mind seeing this world, however. A world where all were free. She said herself that it wasn't perfect, that things sometimes didn't go as they should. There were still poor, but compared to all he had ever known it sounded damn near perfect.

However, none of what she said explained her sunny disposition on life. If anything he would be more depressed being in her position... It had to be her then. The world she came from opened the door for her personality to be born, one that the horrors of the Imperium hadn't been able to destroy. He still didn't trust her, but he felt a small budding of respect for her. She didn't lose herself even after all she had been through. He wished that he could say the same.

.~-~.

Sam sat on the bed, legs bent with her drawing pad resting on her knees. Her thoughts on all that had happened as she drew the table in Varric's room earlier that night with all who had been present. When she was younger she would always get in trouble in school for talking, a social butterfly Dean had called her. It was probably the biggest thing that had changed being yanked into this world, unable to understand a word spoken to her. Her love for people became distrust and resentment. Tonight she hadn't felt that. That part of her that loved interacting and contact with others in general had been awakened for those few hours. It should please her and it did, but she couldn't help but feel depressed. Depressed knowing she was going to have to give it... give them all up when she left.

Pausing in her work, she grasped her necklace and closed her eyes. Pushing all the daunting thoughts into a tiny place in her soul to keep them stored away. She couldn't stay, plain and simple. No matter how much she wished otherwise. Worrying over it did her no good. Taking a deep breath, she let it all go before opening her eyes and seeing her drawing waiting for her to finish. At least she would always have this. Her memories and this picture to add to the others. In her pack was another book full of other such works, the beginning ones on cloth because she hadn't learned how to steal parchment without getting caught or on anything else that could be drawn on. She didn't own much, but if she lost everything it would be the necklace and the collection of drawings that finally did her in. They were her life, her soul. She would capture an image in her mind and the simple drawing of that image allowed buried emotions to be released in another less threatening or dangerous way.

Mind stilled once more, she returned to work under the single candle. Maybe someday she could settle down somewhere and build a life with friends... It just couldn't be now. There would be repercussions not only for her, but all of them if she did.

.~-~.

Sam groaned when her back suddenly slammed into a large bolder.  _At this rate I'm going to be as purple as a grape..._ She snorted after blocking the sword with hers and kicking the person back with her foot, forcing them to stumble.  _At least Hawke's still up and there's only one left._ She could also imagine how all these tough men felt getting their asses handed to them by two girls. If she had used more of her powers Hawke wouldn't even have to lift a finger... or rather waste mana on a spell. But Sam limited herself, not wanting to explain that her odd gifts were a lot more than a mere connection to the veil. It didn't matter what world you were in, people generally looked at you as if you were a crazy person when you told them you could commune with the dead. Best part was that it didn't even include a fraction of what she could actually do. She had already revealed to much the night before, no need to complicate things further.

How had she gotten into such a mess? That was a very good question, one she had been asking herself all day it seemed.

It all started after waking up long after the sun rose, all thanks to Isabela putting some sort of rogue powder on her that knocked her out. She didn't realize it right away, a little hard to when there were no windows and due to the side effects of the damn powder, the whispers of her friends were dulled. She hadn't heard them warning her of the lateness of the hour or much of anything else with that the pounding in her head. Then Isabela corned her before she could get two steps out the room, managing in her oh-so charming way to talk her into having 'breakfast' with her. Lunch more like it. Something she hadn't been too happy about when she learned two hours later that it was afternoon. She made it to the room, much to the protests of the pirate wench, grabbed her pack and almost made it too the door of the tavern when Varric appeared using his own charming personality to somehow talk her into staying another night. Something about all the ships that were going to leave for the day already gone... She had this suspicion that he was lying, but she let it slide. Warmed by the feelings they gave her. They really  _really_  wanted her to stay. And in spite of what the logical move would be, she stayed.

They had been gathered around a table in the cleaned tavern -or as clean as it was going to get- for a few hours. She had been right that nothing could get rid of the smell... or the stickiness, but at least there were no nut shells crunching underfoot anymore. That was where Hawke found them, laughing, drinking, telling stories. The Champion had been frantic. She had been told by some templar that someone close to her had been kidnapped. Her own little brother taken by a furious blood mage that Hawke herself had let live... And that wasn't even the best part, her brother was also a templar. How a group of blood mages and mage sympathizers managed to sneak into the circle, kidnap a templar and sneak back out was something Sam would really like to know. Congratulate them maybe and thank them for the laugh. Of course she didn't. Hawke certainly wouldn't appreciate the twisted humor in the emotional status that she was in, so Sam only smirked at the group when they finally reached them on the Wounded Coast, mentally chuckling.

After a long winded exchange of words between the two parties the battle ensued. Sometime during the first ten minutes both Isabela and Varric had been hit with a spell that put them to sleep. The wench got her own poison thrown back at her so to speak and it was amusing up to the point that Sam realized that it was up to her to keep the mass of enemies off the Champion so she could cast her spells. It surprised her how well they worked together, especially when she had never fought alongside someone else before. They whittled the group down until a lone enemy stood in their way.

Which brought Sam back to the present issue at hand. She was beyond exhausted, Hawke was tired. How much longer could they hold out?

Sam hissed when the man's blade sliced a good knick in her arm. It joined the countless others she had gained so far, something she knew Hawke was growing frustrated over when her healing spells did nothing. Being immune to most magick was a benefit, but at times like this when Sam didn't want to use her powers... it was a curse. Then again, even if she had been alone she would have been hesitant to heal herself anyways. You could say the means weren't so... pleasant. Or they were in a bad sort of way. Bad in that you had to drain another living beings energy -or a part of their soul one could say- to heal. Not only were there moral issues involved, but each time she gained memories from the 'donors' and how many memories depended on how much she took. She was always a mess after doing it, confusing who she was as their memories mixed with hers. That and for some reason the taking and giving of life essence was... Well, it stimulated pleasure in the mind and body like some kind of drug. So, yeah... definitely better not to do it.

Or so she stubbornly told herself as her strength dwindled away. She never doubted that one day her stubbornness was going to be her undoing. Hopefully today wasn't that day... She stumbled back as the man swung his shield at her, then rolled out of the way of his attacking blade. Her fingers grasped the sandy earth, tossing it up into his face and he backed up, cursing. Fair had no place in a battle where life was on the line and she wasn't that honor bound that she wouldn't use it. Growling out, she lunged at him, aiming her sword for the small gap in his metal armor around his armpit and feeling it slide through, sinking deep into his side with a disgusting sound. However, before she could pull it out the man's shield crashed into her chest. She felt the give of her ribs and let go of her sword as the force of the hit threw her back.

"Sam!" Hawke called to her as she fell back off the side of the cliff, something she only noticed as she was falling and looked back, seeing a small ledge a good distance below before it dropped off into the sea and sharp rocks.

"Shit..."  _This is going to hurt._  She should have been paying more attention to her surroundings, but then that wasn't all that surprising given how tired she was. At least she was going to make the ledge. Thank God for small favors.  _Ghaa, why did I stay?_

Pain blossomed in her head and back as she  _found_  the ledge with her body. Her vision blurred. Thoughts scattering as she stared up the cliff side lamely, a figure was on top looking over. They were saying something... something... Sam didn't know. She thought  _help_  had been said but the black was creeping in on her, jumbling all her senses up.  _No... must not... fall..._  Her hands gripped the ground, willing the darkness away. She couldn't let herself fall to darkness. Fall to the burden she carried... there were worse things than death... Liked _Death_  itself. And it took more than a simple fall to kill her. Unfortunately.

Her consciousness faded in and out like a dying TV that had seen too many days. One voice gave way to silence that turned into many voices. She felt her tattoos burning, flaring in warning that she was about to lose the careful hold on her body.  _No! I... won't... fall._   _I won't..._  She muttered under her breath, her words slipping back into English as they tended to at moments like this. High stress moments. Her thoughts drifted to her recent dreams, to her brother.  _Dean... Where are you? I miss you! I need you._

"Sam?" a deep voice asked and she blinked up at the fussy mass of whit end black next to her.

"Oh Maker... How are you even awake?" A strong brogue was next to it.

She mumbled again, groaning when she felt hands on her. The burn of her tattoos lessened, the darkness fading. It completely disappeared when they lifted her, the pain flooded everything she knew. Seconds later it was too much and she slipped into unconsciousness.

.~-~.

_I look back at him, the tears in my eyes mirrored in his as the woman drags me away by my hand. My believing had failed me. We are being separated. Why? Why are we being separated, Grammy? I don't care about living with a roof over my head, getting clothes not worn by so many before me, or even people who could 'play' my parents. I want to stay at the orphanage with him._

_But they say an orphanage is no place for a child to grow up. That even at the cost of losing my only living brother I_ need  _to have this other life they set before me. The harsh reality hits me. My perfect happy outlook tarnished like a beautiful crafted ornament on a Christmas tree that had been knocked off, shattering into jagged rough pieces on the floor._

_They want a little girl, one they can still mold. There is no room for an already molded teen. How can they say they care for me in the same breath that they tell me that my brother is not included in this perfect life they describe? With a pen stroke my last name is changed and I belong to this couple. A pair who already think they know me, know what's best for me. At least their friendly. At least..._

_At least..._

_They direct me to this Ford Focus. I remember those commercials. "Eco-Friendly and Economically Friendly." The first word I know, mommy had said it meant it was safe on the environment... safe for nature. The second one I didn't have the slightest idea. It has Eco in it so perhaps it's just another way to say the first word? As I sit in the back seat, my single box of luggage next to me, I look out the window, back at my brother. I hadn't started crying until he did. I had tried to remain strong, remain happy and see a good positive in this..._

_The man, my new 'father', looks a little nerdy with his glasses and his oversized batman t-shirt, something that clearly said he has yet to fully outgrow his own childish nature. The woman, my new 'mother', is a little fat, her more business get up of black work slacks, pink blouse and black suit coat both balances out her husband and at the same time clashes with him. At least they are a nice looking couple. I have a feeling she is going to be the strict one and he is going to be the one that sneaks me ice cream before dinner or allows me to stay up late when she is away on some business trip. At least things would be interesting. Something tells me they tend to disagree a lot, if the first argument I get to overhear shows any of that. It is over the radio of all things._

_I stare out the window, watching as other cars honk angrily as they zoom by. The woman is driving slower now because she has someone that relies on her for safety. At least she is thoughtful. Thoughtful as she turns the radio off, glaring at her husband before telling me of all the wonderful new clothes they bought. In pink. With a new pink room. I hate pink. At least... No, there is nothing good about the color pink._

_Feeling that funny bubbling feeling in my stomach whenever I get sick, I grab my necklace through my shirt, holding tightly as I close my eyes. If they knew anything about me they would know I got motion sickness in the back... Daddy always let me sit in the front. At least with time they will learn that and learn what I like or dislike. Maybe they will let me repaint the room, or get new clothes?_

_But. Brother doesn't get a new room or new clothes._

_These are dark thoughts. I know this. I also know such thoughts aren't normally me, but it is hard to find the positive when your whole world is falling down around you. At least if it ever happens again I'd be prepared... My lips twitch. At least I have not lost my sense of humor. I feel myself relax. Feel all the pain and sadness leave me. I am still worried. But I feel better. Perhaps that's all we need, to find the positive in life. As long as there is something to laugh at everything will be alright._

_At least my new parents are Eco-Friendly and Economically Friendly._

~~~~.~-~.~~~~


	3. he Siren's Call and Death Faeries

\- 3 -

_~The Siren's Call and Death Faeries~_

_The rain falls, spiraling down around me._

_Endlessly it seems, as time slows,_

_Completing another cycle that the fates decree._

_Hear it, the sirens haunting plea._

_She sings us to sleep, with rhymes that flow,_

_And the rain falls, spiraling down around me._

_Shall I see the end, before the last step so eerie?_

_Shall I slip into obscurity at the skean of my foe?_

_Once more completing the cycle that the fates decree._

_Why, OH-why must it be me?_

_Who hears my heart smoothly lose the cadence in its echo,_

_And the rain tumbles, spiraling down around me._

_It comes for all, even the flea._

_Her lovely bittersweet melody that sows,_

_Concluding this last cycle at the fates decree._

_And in my heart, I'll hold tight to spring._

_As the death faeries help me to my great crescendo,_

_As the rain tumbles, twirling down around me._

_A conclusion to this phase that the fates decree._

Hawke stopped pacing to watch Sebastian and Fenris scale the side of the cliff with Sam.  _Why didn't my magick work on her?_  She never had this problem before. At first she thought it had been her own shortcoming. She would start a healing spell, but then nothing happened. No mana drain. No healing. But when Caver went to get the others, she had nothing but time to think it out as she stared down the edge at the mysterious woman. Hawke realized it couldn't be her. She had the strictest control over her abilities. Something her father had drilled into since she first showed signs of magick. This control was what allowed her to be so powerful. Even so, other than her Mother's death, she never felt so helpless before. But even then she had had her magick... It had always worked.

In any case, Hawke had a theory. One she couldn't be sure of until they got Sam up from the ledge. But it was like there was nothing to connect the magick too. No focus point. No end where the magick could jump to. How was that possible? That would mean she didn't exist and considering how Sebastian and Fenris were laboring to get the woman up to safety she clearly did exist. Which meant there had to be another explanation as to why she couldn't focus any magick on Sam. With any luck Anders and Justice would have an idea when they got here.

She cringed when Sebastian hold on the woman slipped and Fenris just barely caught her around the stomach. He told the Prince to keep going while he adjusted her over his shoulder. "Ah... I'm certain she has some broken ribs you two. Can't you be gentler?"

"Then how about you carry her up?" Fenris growled showing his annoyance at being dragged down to the Wounded Coast by Sebastian.

Varric stumbled to his feet, still struggling with the effects of the sleeping spell and kicked Isabela's foot. "Wake up, Rivaini. If I don't get to sleep neither do you."

Isabela sat up, clutching her forehead as she groaned, "My heeeaaadd."

He chuckled as he walked towards Hawke, brow rising a little at her worried look before looking over the edge and whistled. "How'd... er... Sam, damn I need a nickname for her..." He shook his head. "How'd she get down there?"

Hawke gave an amused smile as she glanced at her short friend. "Little hard to find a nickname when it is clearly a nickname already, eh?" He shrugged and she sighed, brushing her black hair behind her ear as she nodded her head to the dead fighter behind them. "She killed the last one, but he hit her with his shield and sent her over before he died."

"Ouch..." Giving one more peek over the side, he went to the fallen enemy and surveyed damage. Curious, he reached for Sam's interesting sword and pulled it from the man's body. He yelped, dropping it when the blade seemed to shock him.

Hawke turned, brow rising as she went to question him about what was wrong only to find her eyes widening. The sword. The swirling patterns on it were red, she couldn't tell whether it was simply blood from the guy or something else, but when did blood glow? Blood red and shimmering, the lines were also moving slowly, like slithering serpents. Captivated she walked to it, this whispering grim melody coming from the blade and luring her forward. With each step the song grew, resounding in her ears and rumbling in her head. Sounding like beautiful siren's song. She felt her heart pulse in time with the melody as the sword began to radiate the red around it like a thin bloody mist.

Next to the blade Varric was studying his hand and shaking it ever-so-often as he muttered curses under his breath. Hawke saw him, but at the same time didn't. In her mind all she could hear was the beautiful song that was starting to sound like thousands of voices singing in unison. She saw things. Things that flashed to quickly in her head to describe, but it was there. It was like her head was swimming in red wine. Or something else...

Her face was slack. Eye's reflecting the eerie light coming from the sword. She wanted it. Wanted to hold the song in her hands and gain the power it held. Because she knew it had power, could feel it in her soul just as she could hear its song.

"Ah... Hawke?" Varric's voice was distant. She stopped next to him, but said nothing.

There were other noises in this distance, not part of the melody. These noises sounded as if someone were telling another to calm down and stop moving. Faintly she recognized this voice as Fenris', also knew the next was Sebastian who told this someone they were almost there. She couldn't make sense of the one they were talking to, it was slurred and mumbled. But the siren's song knew her, the melody became deafening. Unknowingly Hawke knelt down, staring at the blade for what felt like an eternity before slowly reaching out.

.~-~.

Fenris cursed under his breath as Sam wiggled in his hold. How the blazes she was awake, let alone moving was beyond him. Or how she was hitting his back with any amount of strength for that matter. He was certain to have bruises there later. Nor did her cries make any sense. He doubted he would understand even if it wasn't in some other language he never heard before. It was all slurred together, broken, and guttural at times. And on top all that, he found his thoughts drifting to said body that kept wiggling. He had known she had an appealing form (even half starved as she was), it was hard not too with what she wore, but touching and seeing were two different animals. She had the same feminine curves as Hawke or Isabela, but unlike either he could feel the definition of muscles neither woman could possess without spending nearly a lifetime as an Imperium slave to gain. Not just any slave, mind you, but one that had to be a bodyguard such as himself or something along those lines. She never said what she did, it had been one of those questions she had skirted around and avoided. Yet now he found himself wonder, wondering on more than just what the Magisters used her for.

Maybe he should have taken Isabela up on her offer... even if the mere thought disgusted him it was better than these thoughts for a woman he distrusted more than the witch or the abomination. At the moment at least. Her motives were unknown where as both Merrill and Anders had made theirs obvious from the beginning. Actually everything about this woman was an unknown...

"Kevesh! Take her," he growled only a foot or so to go, his arm aching from holding onto the rope with one hand.

Sebastian had pulled himself up not even a few seconds before and was resting briefly. "Yeah, yeah... I just got up here, relax." He leaned over the edge as they tried to carefully pass her off, made all the more difficult with her struggling.

"Ohuf!" The chantry brother fell backwards and she landed on top of him. "Hey, calm down... you shouldn't be moving."

Fenris hauled himself up next to them, on his hands and knees trying to catch his breath. His gaze went sideways to them, finding that the mysterious woman was looking forward and was trying to get up. To both their amazements she actually managed to get to her feet, left hand holding her side. He could see blood trailing down her back from some cut on her head along with a few other wounds he hadn't noticed before, making the feat of her awake and walking even greater. His eyes followed hers, breath catching when he found... her sword glowing red and Hawke reaching for it in spite Varric's attempts otherwise.  _What sort of vile evil is this?_  He knew something wasn't right.

Sam stumbled falling to her hands and knees, moaning what sounded to him like curses before reaching out and whispering, "Carmen mortis, come to me."

"Whoa, watch out!" Varric's eyes widened when the sword moved, flying out of Hawke's reach and towards Sam's out stretched hand.

Fenris' brow creased, taken aback not by her speaking Arcanum, but what she had said.  _Hymn of death..._ Or...  _Death's song._  He watched as the red mist that surrounded the sword was pulled into the blade, back into the crimson swirling designs before traveling up into her and leaving white in its place while her own tattoos momentarily glowed crimson. She put the sword's tip in the ground, resting against it as she panted.

"Nice trick you got there..." Varric said as he helped Hawke up. The Champion looked dazed but otherwise unharmed.

Exchanging glances with Sebastian who had seen the same thing with her tattoos and the sword, Fenris rose to his feet. This was not a simple thin veil, he knew there was more to it... that she had been dodging what she could really do when they had asked. He took a step forward, about to bring this up when he notice her pull her left hand from her side and finding her pale hand drenched in blood. She clenched her hand, putting it on the ground as she tugged her sword from the ground and put it in its sheath. He stared, stunned again when she wobbled to her feet.

"Sameh, I don't think you should be moving," Sebastian said again as he took a step to her. She waved her hand at him, speaking in that language Fenris never heard before. The Prince simply shook his head. "I don't understand what you're saying, Ma'am, but you're not okay."

She stopped and stared blankly at him, as if she didn't know what he meant before the realization hit her and she gained a look of concentration as she replied, "I  _am_  okay... I'm- Oh Fasta Vaas."

Without any other warning her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she was about to crumble to the ground when Sebastian rushed to catch her. Truthfully, Fenris didn't know why the chantry brother bothered. She may not be a blood mage, but there was something still menacing about her that didn't feel right to him. And who named their weapon  _Hymn of Death?_  No, there was definitely more to these spirits massing around her and the veil being thin. And he was going to get to the bottom of it before the others were fooled by her cheerful ways.

"Hawke... your assistance is needed."

Fenris spat a curse before angrily walking away, back for Kirkwall. There had to be some old book the contemptible Magisters' had left in their wake of fleeing the city. He would get to the bottom of this.

.~-~.

"What's up with the elf's knickers?" Anders asked as he reached the group, looking back up the hill at Fenris fleeing form.

Sebastian shook his head. "Probably unnerved by a power Sameh demonstrated."

"Yeah. It was incredible..." Varric bubbled with excitement. He couldn't wait to put this all into a story. Already he was puzzling it all together in his mind. "Wish I could have Bianca flying to me by simply calling her name... At least I think she was calling for the sword. What did she say Carmen... something?" Hawke groaned with frustration and the storytellers thoughts on the subject ceased as he looked at her and Sam worried. "Hawke, did you even try to heal her during the fight? She looks... horrible."

He brought his hands up in a surrendering gesture when she shot him a glare and snapped, "Anders, I need your help. I can't seem to focus the spell on her."

"Huh? Really?" The apostate knelt next to her and started to cast a spell of his own, only for him to stare down at Sam in confusion. "That's odd."

Sebastian and Varric drew closer, looking down at them. Isabela finally got up, groaning about her head and Varric asked as he glanced at the pirate, "What's odd?"

Anders shook his head. "It's like she's not here... or at least not fully here." At the two men's confused looks he explained, "With magick you need something to focus on to direct the spell being cast. Normally we either target the person or something near the person if we... let's say want to cast a fireball. Anything in the path to that object will be hit, but healing spells won't work like that. You need to be specifically focused on the person and the wound. It's why it's so difficult to learn."

"So she can't be healed?" Hawke nodded with Varric's question, setting her hand on Sam's head. He could see she was concerned, something the Champion tried not to show all too often which only hinted at the gravity of what this meant. He knew she was blaming herself for dragging the woman into her own messy affairs.

Sighing, he snapped his fingers in front of her face to jog her out of whatever thoughts she was having. "Hawke, it's not your fault. If anything Isabela and I are to blame. We forced her to stay when she was going to leave this morning." She wrinkled her nose. "And yes I know what you're thinking..." He shifted. "Nothing can be done for her?"

Anders shook his head. "No... I didn't say that. It's just that Hawke and I personally can't do anything..."

Seeing where this was going, Varric said it for him, "But Justice can."

"He thinks he can..." The apostate frowned. "Ever since he revealed that spirit thing last night he's been... quiet. I feel like he's been keeping things from me. And just now he said he could help her. What I don't understand is why he can and I can't..."

They all stared at him startled and Sebastian uncrossing his arms as he shifted uncomfortably. "Is that even possible? I thought you two were one and the same?"

"So did I..." Anders shifted his gaze down to Sam.

Isabela finally stood next to them, rubbing the back of her neck. "So what are you waiting for? If you hadn't noticed she is bleeding out... everywhere." She gestured around them for emphasis.

"He wants me to give all control to him without explaining why..."

"Oh!"

Hawke pressed her lips together, not pleased with the turn of events. "At least explain why I can't focus on her. It doesn't have to be in great detail..."

Anders shot her a look, startled that she sounded so lax about it, only for his brow to furrow as if hearing something and thinking about it. "She's here, but mostly... in the veil and elsewhere."

Snorting, the Champion shook her head, sarcasm in her voice, "Well that was broad." She sighed, looking away. "Do whatever you need to, to keep her alive. I don't want her dying because of..." Varric cleared his throat and they exchanged a look. "... of us."

Anders nodded, fear and apprehension crossing his features before his face went slack and Justice... or rather Vengeance took control and went all glowy. It was amusing really, if you thought about it: How both Fenris and Anders glowed blue at times in this strange otherworldly fashion and yet they hated each other. It was something that had crossed Varric's mind a couple of times. These thoughts, however, ceased when instead of doing the normal healing thing he accustom to seeing from Anders and the spirit, the duo reached over taking Sam's hand and withdrew her sword. Hawke took a step back, the memory of whatever it had done to her fresh in her mind. Varric eyed her, reminding himself to ask later what it was that had taken a hold of her and made her eyes red.

They all gasped when Justice suddenly slammed his open palm down on the blade, gapping in morbid fascination when the swirling patterns turned white again and white wisps started reaching out from the blade and attaching to the hand. His hand shimmered blue, then his whole body glowed white, looking as if these wisps where tugging the essence of the fade spirit and pulling it into the blade. And with each second he grew dimmer and dimmer. It all happened so fast that none of them realized they should have probably stopped him and it wasn't until Anders himself jerked his hand free were they themselves free from the sight.

"Justice?" the apostate whispered, eyes wide not with fear but concern. "Vengeance?"

"Blondie, what just happened?" Varric asked, looking Sam over and noticed she looked better but wasn't healed all that much.

"I-I don't know." He shook his head as he healed the wound in his hand, wincing. "Justice?" Anders sighed then in relief, probably hearing whatever answer the spirit gave him.

Satisfied that her partner was okay, Hawke knelt down carefully, checking the mysterious woman over. "She'll live, but not if she stays out here."

Anders nodded. "He said the same thing just now, but it's all he could do."

"What did he just do?" Sebastian asked, eyeing the sword warily.

"Nearly killed himself that's what," Anders hissed angrily. Taking Sam's hand, grabbing the sword and putting it back in the sheath. "I don't understand most of it because he was trying to shield his thoughts from me, but it appears this sword doesn't affect only demons."

Varric stroked his chin. "Intriguing... I wonder what its name means."

Sebastian shrugged, moving closer to pick the prone woman up. "Ask Fenris, it sounded to me like Arcanum. Could be why he left like he did. At any rate, I'm taking her to the Chantry. Since magick won't help her, the healers there should be able to patch whatever's left."

Hawke helped Anders up. "Good idea. We'll go to my estate... let you..." She gave Anders a look that left no room for argument. "... rest. Varric, Isabela... one of you try and find Fenris, see what's up with him and the other tell Merrill and especially Aveline, what happened."

Isabela got a mischievous look on her face and started to say, "I'll go..."

Varric cut her off, "Tell Daisy and Red, Rivaini, I think the last thing we need is you finding Fenris when he's already angry about something. I'll do it."

She pouted. "You never let me have fun."

He smirked and winked at her. "Sure I do, only when it's with me. And maybe later I'll allow you to play with my chest hair."

"Will you?" He shrugged at her. "Oh you! You're such a tease."

.~-~.

_Outside my window the tree branch tap, taps against it with the frightening storm that lashes and flashes furiously overhead. I hold my god-awful pink unicorn blankets tight to me as I sit there, staring timidly at the woman residing at the end of my bed. Today was my tenth birthday, a lack luster event filled with a scary clown and balloons that exploded, and the whole time I pretended to enjoy it for my new parents deciding that if I couldn't be happy someone should be. Right now, though, I wishI was back there with that pasty white man with red lip stick smeared all over and his rank beer and cigarette breath. Perhaps if I imagine this whimpering lady as that clown... No, definitely not. Makes it all the more terrifying. Clown-ghosts._

_I shiver as I shift my gaze to the cracked door and the hallway beyond. I never thought I would spend the night of my birthday being a shrink to a ghost, but then here I am doing just that. Nor is it the first time I have had to make the dead woman feel better. I just thought we had gotten somewhere the last time she was here, last week. Apparently not, but then I can't blame her. Neither of us could have predicted this._

_She came with my new parents. With the house. Never before have I actually seen one, I only feel them and hear them. And all things considered I took it rather well -if hiding in your closet with a flashlight the first night staying in the house, dim rays pointed at the handles and staying there until you new parents found you the next morning as_ 'well' _. Then yes, at least I didn't scream..._

_A shadow passes the door of my room and I pull the blanket closer, swallowing. 'You brought him home with you,' she had said. Great. Who did I bring home again? How did I bring him home? From where? And what did it mean when a ghost was afraid, curled up at the end of your bed, whimpering and eyes all buggy as she trembled? Could ghost sweat? Cause I'm certain Miss Heather is. All I want to do is hide under my covers and pretend like none of this is real. That I am only dreaming and I will be back with my brother, back with my real parents. Safe. Warm. But I know that even if I keep wishing, dreaming, and believing in it, nothing is ever going to bring them back to me. Or that feeling of naive comfort. Also those whispering voices tell me not to. That the only thing keeping this dark force at bay is me watching it. I may have doubted myself... if only I hadn't been sharing my bed with a ghost..._

_'But hey!' I tell myself, 'At least you're not alone.' Swallowing my fear, I look to the woman and hold out my hand to her, calling her name and beckoning her to me. Hesitantly she eyes me. Why she had self-esteem issues I can't understand. She was a young woman when she died, brown wispy hair that framed her face that now seem to float with some unearthly wind and blue eyes as far reaching as the sky. Sure, her nose was not as straight as some model would want it to be and her right eye hung a little higher than the left, but to my un-biased eyes of a ten year old, she looks perfect._

_Nodding, she crawls up the bed and slowly takes my hand, both of us startled when her cold fingers actually clasp with mine. And for the first time since I lost my brother I am... relieved. I am not alone. This woman, Heather, may have been dead but at least she listens to me, really listens and is not so self-absorbed in her own drama that she doesn't notice I am un-happy. However, as she nestles under the covers with me and we hold tightly to each other, both watching the door with terror-filled interest, I realize another important fact: If she can touch me and I can touch her, then whatever lay beyond that door can do the same._

_As if this dark figure knows what I am thinking a hard grinding, like the edge of a knife tip rubbing against the wood, comes from the hallway. We squeeze each other, praying for the sun to rise._

.~-~.

Sebastian was knelt before the layers of white flickering candles on the podium, their honey flavored sent floating down to him. For some reason the scent was only another reminder of the young woman who lay in the room on the second floor at the very end of the right wing. She had been comatose for nearly two weeks now, something that worried the healer that had been set to care for her and in turn worried him. But the High-Cleric said all was well and that he should stop fretting over things that were out of his hands. The woman had been weak from exhaustion and hunger, and it was clear to all who saw her that she needed this rest. And while he knew she was right, he couldn't help but be worried. It wasn't that he doubted the Mother in this, he just didn't see how praying for Sam could hurt anything... other than make his knees stiff.

No matter what Fenris said, or that the elf ridiculed him for these feelings, he wouldn't stop. As far as he saw it this woman had  _no one_. She was alone, running from something the ex-slave should be able to understand but was letting views and pent up aggression to get in the way. Of course he had said it much more... elegantly... in his brogue, but that was beside the point. Sam had a strange power. So what! Like Fenris' own lyrium powered 'gifts' weren't strange and frightening? And let's not forget Anders! The only thing that made her different than them was that she was still holding her cards close to her. She was an unknown. No doubt afraid of what they would think if she told them the truth or in this case the full truth... Maker's breath, even he was still trying to grasp the fact that she had this profound connection to the veil and spirits. Or what that sword of hers had done to Hawke.

He sighed, trying to calm his mind. These thought's didn't help Sam any and it only left him going in circles.

.~-~.

Merrill hummed lightly to herself as she walked out of her Alienage house. It was nearing dusk, the sun peeked through the building down at the harbor and casted long shadows. She bowed to the golden sphere, biding it goodnight in the Dalish tongue before she started to skip towards the stairs. As she passed the large tree in the center square, she heard low voices on the other side and curious by nature she decided to sneak a look. There stood four men, all cloaked in black and their faces hidden from her, talking far too softly for her to hear.  _How odd..._  Shrugging, she turned away from the tree and continued on her way to the Hanged Man.

She wondered if she was going to win any coin from Wicked Grace tonight, highly doubtful, but she could still hope. Or was Isabela going to have some new rum there? She sure did like trying new things. Was Fenris still brooding over Sam? It reminded her of how he once got that scowling face towards Hawke. Was he finally accepting she had moved on? How was the Champion moving on? Merrill still wasn't all that sure what Isabela meant by that. Anders was living in her house now... they seemed close... How was there grass growing in the cracks in that wall? Nature was the most wonderful-est thing. She could make beauty out of the most Maker forsaken places. Then again, she could leave others so hallow and depressing. How was the clan doing? Why was she thinking about them? Maker, her life had been misra-

Merrill ran into something and nearly fell backwards if not for the arms that steadied her. "You should pay attention to where you walk, elf."

She blinked staring up into the hood of another cloaked man with a mean sounding voice. She shook it off, smiling. "Ops, I've been told that... sorry I just get lost in my tho-"

"Go bother someone else, girl." He pushed her away before turning to his five companions, all dawning black cloaks and they walked off together.

Her nose wrinkled. "How rude..."

.~-~.

Varric came out of his room and stretched, feeling better after a small cat nap. How Hawke found these strange jobs was a feat in itself. He couldn't wait until he weaved this into some courageous hymn to be remembered for the ages. Leaving those thoughts for later, his gaze fell on a certain broody elf sitting at the normal spot where the group met. There was a book before him and parchment as he read through the old test and tried to figure out what it meant, every-so-often muttering curses in Arcanum. The ever scowling elf had told him he was trying to apply what Hawke had taught him about the common language and what he knew of the language already to Arcanum text. And judging by the amount he had written on the parchment he hadn't gotten very far.

Shaking his head, he chuckled to himself as he walked down the stairs, waved Penny the bar maid down before sitting next to his lyrium tattooed friend. "I take it you're not doing so well?"

Fenris shot him a glare. "I'm not going to even grace you with a response to that, dwarf."

Chuckling again, he thanked Penny as she set his drink in front of him. "So... I've been meaning to ask. What's Carmen... something or other, mean?"

Setting the book and quill down, Fenris rubbed his face. "Why the sudden curiosity in Arcanum?"

"Get off it, elf, we all heard her call the sword that." He shrugged as he took a drink. "For a whisper it sure traveled far..."

Sighing, Fenris stared down at the ancient test accusingly. "Carmen mortis... it means  _Hymn of Death_  or  _Death's song_."

Varric's brows shot up at that, taking another sip as he contemplated what its overall meaning could be. Considering what Hawke had told them about all the voices singing from the sword and Sam's interesting connection to the veil and spirits, it clearly meant something. He set his mug down and crossed his arms before rubbing his chin.

Fenris snorted and asked sarcastically, "I know that look, do tell, what are you thinking?"

"I believe I just found a nickname for our mysterious friend..." The elf rolled his eyes and started working on translating again. "No wait, you have to hear it first..."

Varric paused dramatically and Fenris snapped, "Spit it out already."

"Siren."

Fenris' scowl deepened. "What?"

"You know? Those things that sing to sailors, luring them to their watery graves, sirens." He waggled his brow. "Who knows... maybe she can sing too? She certainly got the looks for it." The elf gave a disgusted grunt and he pouted. "You're no fun, you know that?"

When his friend merely ignored him, he sighed, taking his mug from the table and toasting himself for a job well done. "Well I think it's perfect."

Taking another sip, his eyes scanned the Tavern. There appeared to be a lot more people than normal... or was he imagining things? His eyes fell on a group of men off in the far corner from them all wearing black cloaks. Their hoods were down, but he still found it bizarre how they all... matched. Even when there were humans, elves and dwarves mingled together in their ranks. Perhaps it was because they all had this serious look on their faces... or the fact that they were so calm compared to the other rowdy crowd that was there tonight.

Shaking his head, he took another drink and looked at Fenris again, dismissing them as another thought entered his head. "Elf?"

"Hn?"

"Why are you doing this?"

Fenris gritted his teeth, obviously he had known this was coming. "I don't trust her."

"Clearly... but why are you fussing over this? I mean, she's no different than you or Anders." Varric held up his hand as the elf started to glow, furious with being compared to the abomination. "I meant the strangeness of powers, elf, relax. But seriously, why are you so adamant about finding something to incriminate her?"

"She lies."

"No... she just doesn't give the whole truth, there is a difference in that, broody." He sighed when his hateful glare on the book didn't change. "Look, I get being suspicious of her... but she has to have a good reason for not telling us. Not only that but she wouldn't even be here now if it wasn't for me and Isabela. She helped us. She got hurt helping us. As far as I see it she isn't some evil demon trying to steal our souls, just a slave running from something..." He brought his mug back up to his lips. "Amazing how familiar that sounds."

Fenris stopped working and scowled at him. "She could have been fooling you, deceiving you into thinking she was going to leave... or maybe she bewitc-"

"Are you even listening to yourself, broody?" He set his mug on the table and gestured wildly with his hand. "You've always been distrustful but this is extreme even for you." Varric crossed his arms. "What is it? Why are you really angry with her? That she's happy? That she doesn't blame and hate the world for what it has done to her? That she has this sort of peace about her that you don't have?" Seeing Fenris' face soften, he pushed on, "That's it isn't it. You're jealous and frustrated that this woman is comfortable in her skin and in her life while you are always glancing behind you or holding that great beast of a sword in front of you to keep everyone and anything away. You want to ruin it for her, drag her down into your misery. Just because you destroyed your chance with Hawke doesn't mean you should take it out on this poor woman. I think only you can know how much she's been through... Or the pain she must feel. Come on, you're better than this, my broody friend."

Deciding he had said enough, Varric waved to Penny to signal he needed another drink. Damned if he didn't need it. He hated when he had to give them tough love...

.~-~.

Sebastian was still praying as the other Brother and Sisters' started picking the place up and cleaning around him before dinner and bed. He didn't notice. They were nearly silent. Efficient after a life time of doing this one job. No, what startled him from his mind was the slam of the great doors of the hall and a group of men noisily walking in. He frowned, trying to push their presence from his mind... but something about them wouldn't let him.

Opening his eyes, he glanced behind his shoulder. Watching as seven men in black cloaks walked up to the High-Cleric. There was this feeling... this vibe that something wasn't right about them. That was before the lead lowered his hood and started to talk with the Mother with an accent he was all too familiar with. Cursing under his breath, only to swiftly ask the Maker for forgiveness, he calmly finished and stood, meeting the Mother's eyes. This was not good. Not at all.

~~~~.~-~.~~~~


	4. Ebony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to say these Latin words. If anyone is curious:
> 
> *I used Carmen mortis in the last chapter, it really does translate from Latin as song of death or death's song. Mort- is the main stem for death and -is basically means of for these group of male words making mortus the noun death.
> 
> Domnus- Doe'm-nus = Think lord or majesty.
> 
> Eximius-exeh'mehus= super, in this case I'm using it to say he is the head captain instead of a captain major or superior captain.
> 
> Orcae-Or'keye= If I stuck with true Latin it would be Orci (or'key), doesn't look as good and Orcae sounds better (or'key sounds like a type of dog if you don't roll the 'r' right.). This comes from the word Orcus meaning death and underworld. The -us at the end is male and -i is plural for male words. I simply made it a female world, Orcas and used the plural female stem -ae.

\- 4 -

Ebony

_"Sammy, I think that one's looking at you like it might want to eat you..." Dean said, nudging me as he pointed out a certain, particularly large lion from the herd that was a good mile away from the safety of our truck._

_The sun hung high overhead with the sounds of nature and life all around us and I trembled slightly as the king of the Savanna licked his huge lips, his sharp canines protruding out from under them and his wild rusty mane made him appear intimidating, and I felt as if he was really staring only at me. While I was scared, I tried to act like his words hadn't affected me by rolling my eyes at his silly smirk._

_I looked away, watching as a few huge roly-poly hippos treaded through a watering hole in the distance and snorted, "If you say so..."_

_He chuckled as I shifted uncomfortably, and put his arm around me. "Don't worry, little flea, I'll protect you."_

_I wrinkled my nose at his horrid nickname for me, but said nothing as I nodded, leaning into him and turned my head back to the pride's side of the truck to watch our parents work out in the field. They themselves were trying to be careful so as not to upset the pride and make them attack as they moved their equipments around and performed their study. If anyone was going to get attacked it would be them, not us. I shivered as a cold chill crept over, the voices of the dead whispering just beyond my hearing range. After straining to hear them, but finding I still couldn't hear them, I sighed, looking up at the clear bight sky. The two of us had been here with them for a few months. I didn't mind it, it was peaceful out in the middle of nowhere with only the animals to keep you company, but sometimes I did miss staying home with Grammy and Dean. But we couldn't do that anymore... not when Grammy died over a year ago._

_I missed my friends at school... I missed the rain... I missed sitting on Grammy's lap in her old withered rocker on the front porch as she told me of her adventurous years as a young woman. The blossoms from the apple trees would flitter in the breeze, almost dancing for us. And oh! How I missed her warm golden eyes and the scent of cinnamon from her tan wrinkly hide. Or the way she braided her white hair that contained the small hint of rich brown that it had once been as that young untamed woman in her stories. At times could even see it all in my mind._

_I always tried to stop the memories, the dreams there... knowing my world would change again in those following moments as I stared innocently up at the clear sky recalling Grammy. This time had been no different and I mentally held my breath, grasping onto the feeling of sitting in that overheated truck with green army paint, the sun blazing down on us and giving me a sunburn, the soft caress of the wind or how affluent with smells the landscape around me had been, like the smell of the dirt under the rubbery tire wheels, or the almost tangy flavor of the long yellow grass that swayed all around us. I struggled to embrace all of these smells too me, slowing time and making time itself come to a near stop in those few heartbeats._

_But even in dreams nothing can last forever. Just like Grammy's life had passed, the light in her eyes dimming before being extinguished by a stiff breeze, so too would this dream. I braced myself, knowing the end was coming, knowing that the sweet happy memory would suddenly plunge into a dark twisted nightmare as time sped up once again. Only experiencing the coming moments would tell me if this nightmare would be one of those nice version or the truth, something far more perverse and sinister than anything my imagination could come up with, but I didn't want to experience any of this again. I didn't want to relive that day. I felt almost like I was trying to dig my feet into the ground before me, arms covering my face as the tight chains of memory yanked me forward._

_As the sound of my darkest fear rattles in my head, I jerk awake, a scream in my throat that I barely manage to hold. Lilith, my new mother is next to me, making these nasally shussing sounds as she tries to ease me back into the horrible pink bed. I obey reluctantly, wanting nothing more than to cast away everything and go running, shrieking into the woods... But they don't have any woods here. I am not home. I have lost everything I ever loved or known. And nothing is ever going to be the same._

_The heavy weight of that realization crashes upon my chest, nearly suffocating as Lilith puts a warm towel on my forehead. She tries to baby me for a few minutes, but it comes off as some half assed attempt before she finally gives up and leaves to go lick her wounds and make herself feel better about being such a horrible mother. No wonder God had seen fit not to allow her to have a baby... Life is all business, all the time. Her idea of comfort is a lecture on how not to let nightmares keep me up all the time to the point that I run myself ragged and get sick. Like being ill is all my fault. How little she knows that this isn't really due to nightmares but a presence that now haunts the halls of her house that makes me ill._

_Turning my head from the door as it closes behind her, I look at the pink walls, eyes following the curving patterns of the paint strokes. Perhaps she would be nicer if she thought she could still mold me into that perfect child she wants? The sting of that one had sent her into a fit when I told her flat out that I hated the room and that I didn't care for all the things she was trying to push me into. I haven't ever been a girly-girl... So no, I won't take dance classes, learn how to knit, or whatever the hell she wants me to do. Then again, I highly doubt that any child... even if it was her own would please her. She is a perfectionist. It is her way or no way at all. Only I refused to bow to her whims like her husband and everyone else in this world seems to. She resents me for this._

_"Sam..." Heather gently tugs me from my thoughts as she moves to sit next to me and I glance sideways at her. "Everything will be okay, Sam. Like you told me, just find something funny about all this..."_

_Her cold ghost hands touch my face, and I close my eyes finding her to be better than any luke-warm rag. 'Find the funny...' I think sarcastically, 'There has to be something ironic in all of this.'_

_It takes me a while, but I do... I find it. The fact that Lilith has to take care of me, a child she now doesn't want is amusing and ironic in a twisted sort of way. I may be suffering but at least she is too. I smirk a little and look at my friend and another thought comes to me. No, it was more important that while I may have lost everything, I am alone. That is the real spark that chases away my gloomy mood._

_"Thanks... Heather." How would I get through any of this without her? She smiles warmly at me, proceeding to take care of me like a real mother would and I feel this new ache blooming in my chest for her, knowing that she would have made a good mother and know now she won't ever get that chance._

.~-~.

Sebastian stood on the ledge outside the window of Sam's room, holding her close and trying not to think about how long of a fall it was to the ground or the fact that she wasn't really wearing anything. Inside the sister who had been taking care of her was fretting about, fixing the bed and hiding Sam's things. He hoped they wouldn't have to be out here long, it was chilly up here. His eyes shifted to Sam, only in her underclothes, wrap, and her cloak hastily wrapped around her (something he had just happened to grab on a whim). Her head rested on his shoulder, face deathly pale and her blonde hair streaked with red-rust clung to her sweaty face. The cold couldn't be good for her.

His cheeks flushed a little noticing the ends of her cloak weren't as secure around her as he thought they were and he snapped his eyes away, looking out over the red roofs of the other buildings. To deter his thoughts from thinking about that or her, he thought about what happened. Was there any way they could have done more to not be in this situation? No, there wasn't anything really. Sam had to be here. Nowhere else in this city was there a concentration of people who could heal without magick. And the Mother had done her best to deter the men without drawing suspicion, but they had insisted on checking the place out. Only thing he could think of was if Hawke and the others were here, they could have fought the men... But then that would have alerted whoever those men were that Sam was indeed in the Chantry.

His thoughts stilled and he stiffened when the door to the room slammed open, harsh voices talking as they searched every inch of the room and questioned the sister. Sebastian started to move away from the window, there was a corner not that far from him that went to the front of the building. If he could make it they would remain hidden in case one of the men opened the window and looked out.

_Come on... just a few more feet._

When he finally got to the corner and made it to the side, he flattened his back against the cool brick, sighing with relief. A few seconds later the sound of the window opening reached him on the breeze.

"She's not here."

Sebastian stiffened.  _That voice..._  It was strange, but for some reason he thought he recognized it. Maybe the man was one of the other brother's. Yes, that had to be what caught his attention. He knew no one from the Imperium other than Fenris so thinking otherwise was merely a waste of time. Looking down warily, he could see the square down below easily and what looked to be more hooded figures walking in the shadows.  _Much bigger problems than a mere voice._  However, as the silence stretched on between this man and whoever he spoke to, the rogue dangling on the side of the Chantry with a cold unconscious woman in his arms couldn't help but come back to the voice. Why couldn't he place the brother it belonged to? Normally he was good with voices and faces...

His thoughts were left forgotten in the chilling wind when a woman from the room muttered softly, "No, she's here. They are hiding her somewhere, Captain Garrus. I can feel her."

Sebastian glanced around the corner, finding a woman wearing one of those black cloaks standing at the window. She pulled the hood down as she stared out with her brown eyes that were almost black they were so dark. With a furious and harsh glare on her face as she gaze at the roofs of the city below, her graying straw-hair fluttered in the wind.  _What a... vile looking woman. Maker forgive me, but that woman feels evil._  He tried to never judge people on their appearances alone, but the air around this woman was heavy, thick with this uneasy presence that made him ill. Almost like he could feel the taint of her soul. Not that she was much a looker either. Maybe at one point in her younger days she would have looked... sort of appealing. It was hard to ignore the hooked nose that made her look more like some bird of prey then a woman. Then there were areas where magick had attempted to fix the wrinkles, stretching her old leathered skin, and yet the crow's-feet in the corner of her eyes remained.

The woman shifted. Gaze turning in his direction. Breath catching, he swiftly leaned back and hid once more behind the corner. Holding the air in his lungs, he waited, hoping she hadn't noticed him. After a minute passed, then another, he slowly let his breath out and glanced down at the woman in his arms. That had been far too close for his comfort.

"What do you wish of me, your Domnus?" Sebastian's brow creased hearing the man speak again and a face flashed in his head.  _Is that...? No, she called him Garrus. It can't be him, why would he be in the Imperium?_

"Send a message to the others... and get me Magister Revinus."

"Of course, Magister Gallia."

Sebastian could hear the man leaving the room, but the woman stayed by the window for whatever reason. Frowning, he looked to Sam, concern growing. Was it him or were her lips blue? What was worse was that he could feel her shivering, small tremors against him. Was this harsh Magister woman going to seriously stay in that room? And did he hear right two Magisters?

_What sort of trouble do you have chasing you, Sameh?_

.~-~.

Laughter rose around him. The joyous sound was almost like a warm blanket. One that embraced Fenris letting all his cares slip further away through the cracks Varric had made earlier that day. With his chair leaning back against the tavern wall, the front of the chair's legs up in the air and his arms folded behind his head, he smiled lazily at his friends, watching as Varric won another round of Diamond Back in their normal spot in the main tavern room. Hawke, Anders, and Merrill all groaned as he chortled, some witty comment followed quickly behind as he took a gulp from his mug before slamming it on the table, jingling the coins he had won previously. He reached forward with both arms, having to stand just to get the pot he won into his ever growing pile.

"That's it. I'm out," Anders grumbled throwing his cards at the table.

Hawke gave him a sympathetic look, squeezing his arm lightly as Varric sat back, scratching his chest, looking rather pleased with himself. "Cheer up, Blondie. At least it is a friend taking your allowance and not some Darktown cut-throat."

Snorting, Anders picked up his own mug and stared at its contents with disgust before chugging. He slammed it back down as well, motioning for the bar maid Norah to bring a refill. "That was no allowance, dwarf. I earned that through what meager profit I gain from the clinic. And friend, ha! Everyone knows that other than Isabela you earn more money from your _friends' hard work_  than your own."

"Oh, Andraste's dimpled butt cheeks," the dwarf gave an exaggerated sigh, "Stop complaining you sore loser you." As the bar maid gave them another round, he flipped a few coins her way casually. "With the way I pay around here, I need these donations."

"Donations, ha..." Anders retort was quick as he grabbed the cards together and started to deal another round, including himself (ignoring what he had just said about quitting). Fenris, however, allowed the apostate mage's voice to join the current melody of the tavern. Singing drunk men. Bickering drunk men. And his all time favorite the singing bickering drunk men. He took a sip of the wine bottle Varric had been generous enough to get him. When nothing came he tipped it further back, and a little more than that before finding only a few swallows full. He sighed as he shook the bottle, it was emptier than he thought. You know, as in  _empty_... Eh, it was for the best anyway. He didn't like becoming a complete drunken idiot at these tavern gatherings. Too public. Even so, he could feel the rose colored liquid working against him, making him far more relaxed then he would normally (or should) be.

But Fenris had to admit, this break felt good. He had been tenser lately due to a certain new Tevinter Slave who entered their group two weeks ago. Allowing himself to actually relax, step back and examine all that happened... Perhaps Varric was right. He was worrying himself over nothing as far as Sam was concerned. Sure, she was still suspicious, but she hadn't given them (him) anymore reason to be wary of her than the rest of them before joining. Venhedis, Fenris himself had set Hawke and her small group (at that time consisting all of three) up in a trap meant for him. Sam not only wanted nothing to do with them originally, but had helped them kill Danarius and his slavers. Of course being a runaway slave herself it was in her benefit to kill them, but she had been hidden when the fight started. She could have easily escaped through a window somewhere in the back. Maybe that had been his issue: she killed the man who deemed himself his master. In a way he felt cheated.

A black mass moved in his peripheral vision. Nonchalantly he looked towards the bar, seeing a man talking to Penny, the main bar maid, wearing a cloak with his hood down. Fenris frowned as he took in this stern older man who looked to be arguing with the woman. Something about this man rubbed him wrong, but other than the man being a warrior of some merit, he couldn't grasp anything else from him. Shrugging the thoughts off, he returned to thinking about Sam.

Yes, he did feel cheated. Then on top of that this woman was so cheerful. It irritated him. Even when Sam was doing anything but something wrong. Sam had wanted to leave. Was going to leave until Isabela and then Varric had their way with her -which was before Hawke showed and got Sam to help  _yet again_. Fenris rubbed the back of his neck, he knew better than most that the pirate wench and storytelling dwarf had a way like that, getting people to do as they wanted. And Hawke... Well, she had a way of getting people to help her even if they were completely against the cause. Himself included. Fenris shot a short glare at Anders. If anything this mysterious woman was another one of their victims. But if he had to blame anyone it would certainly be the pirate... She had drugged Sam at any rate.

As if Fenris' thoughts alone summoned her, the pirate wench came down the stairs from her room and took a seat next to him with a heavy sigh. He glanced sideways at her, curious as to why she was moody. And perhaps he was also somewhat worried for the woman. Sleeping with someone had a tendency to do that... or so he suspected. She had visited him three months ago, clearly lonely, and with him mirroring the same dark emotions one thing had led to another, turning their relationship from  _just friends_  to friends with benefits. But by no means was he in love with the overbearing woman. Nor was she only seeing  _him_. As far as he was concerned he would never love again after Hawke and guessing how things ended between the pirate captain and Hawke's twin brother, Fenris suspected Isabela was still eating herself up inside over letting her promiscuous ways ruin the one good relationship she could and would have ever had. They were akin in that aspect, both having destroyed the one good thing in their lives. That being any romantic relationship with the Hawke twins.

These thoughts, however, passed quickly upon seeing the dark circles under Isabela's normally bright teasing eyes. She looked worn and tired, with this miserable expression on her face that he hadn't seen since Garret had left. It shocked him seeing her like this as she looked down at something held in her hand, fingers moving as she rubbed what he realized was twisted metal, a type he had never seen before.

Before he could question what it was Varric took notice. "How is she? Still has not woken up?"

She shook her head, thumb rubbing over a bright sapphire the size of a small coin held within the twisted metal. "No."

"Rivaini, it's not your fault." The dwarf put his cards down.

Isabela shrugged. "I know... shit happens. I just don't understand, her wounds are healed for the most part." Hawke and Anders glance at each other, and Varric nodded as he reached forward for his drink.

"Maybe she was really, really tired," Merrill offered innocently.

Isabela looked up at them, before her gaze went to the Dalish elf. "Maybe, Kitten." Her eyes went back to the pendent, brow creasing with thought.

"What is that?" Fenris asked, now that he wasn't trying to find things to hate about the woman, he had to admit that he was extremely curious about anything and everything that had to do with her.

"It's her necklace... Sebastian said that the sister taking care of her had to take it off."

He let the chair's front legs set back down with a thud, reaching out his hand. "Let me see."

Her golden gaze fell on him unsure, before handing the pendent to him. "I don't know why I took it. It was just laying there and something about it felt..." Her voice trailed off.

The sounds of the tavern fell away as Fenris examined the pendent, amazed by the intricacy of it. How could someone melt and bend metal like this? All without the tool marks normally associated with metal working? It was mind boggling. Rubbing his thumb over the pendent much like Isabela had, he found the piece beautiful in its own odd way. Something about it fit Sam. The whole mystery with her, and then with this... His thumb tipped into a small crevice, stopping there. Turning the necklace in his hand, he examined the side and back. Why did he get this feeling that the pendent was missing a piece? Like a twin. He could almost imagine how they would line up. This was significant. He knew this and yet knew not why it was significant. Who held the other piece? A lover perhaps?

"She's been dreaming," Isabela spoke up, interrupting his thoughts. He blinked, startled by the loud noises returning (particularly two men sitting at the table next to him singing at the top of their lungs). The small collection of friends looked at her, waiting for her to explain. She sighed, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table, weaving her fingers together.

When she didn't continue, Hawke's expression grew worried as she put her drink down with her own cards and pushed her friend for more. "That's good, isn't it?"

"I would have said yes, but when she talks... I can't understand a word, but I know she's scared." The pirate glanced sideways to Fenris. "Most of it is Arcanum. I was wondering if you would come with me tomorrow."

He felt all their eyes on him. Waiting to see what he would do or say. He hadn't held back his opinion of distrust and dislike of her the past two weeks that was for sure. Shrugging, he continued to finger the pendent. "I'll go with you."

Hawke's brow rose, surprised he sounded so willing, while Anders shook his head and crossed his arms. "Are we certain this is a good idea? I mean, you might be tricking us to kill her as she sl-"

"Anders!" Hawke slapped his chest lightly giving him a glare.

"Just saying." The apostate held up his hands in surrender, trying to look innocent.

Fenris glared at the abomination but said nothing to counter what he said. Anders was right to mention such a thing. In all honesty he had thought about doing just that a few times, but now... He wasn't so sure what he wanted to do. Was he honestly that angry with her for simply being happy? He couldn't say that he liked how someone from his own world had come out so carefree and blissful. Was it truly all him that kept him in the past? Or was this anger all because she killed Danarius, not him?

Varric chuckled. "Nah blondie, we talked. Elf is fine now. Aren't you?" He nodded at him before taking a sip of his mug.

Fenris shifted his gaze to the dwarf, then nodded before looking back at the pendent. Realizing he was still holding it, he went to give it back to Isabela. "I have... decided to give her a chance."

"Well lucky her," Anders muttered, looking away from their group to another more strident group that was cheering on two men checking their arm strengths against each other.

Isabela shook her head at Fenris' out stretched hand, eyeing the necklace with apprehension. "Keep it for her. I'm afraid I would lose it."

Closing his fingers around it, he stared at her, puzzled by how she was acting. He glanced at the others, all of them with questioning looks. Before any of them could ask there was a commotion at the bar and Fenris found the bar maid arguing not only with the man from before, but now with two men dawning those same black cloaks. He frowned, wishing it was not so loud in the tavern so he could hear the men's voices better. He could almost swear he could hear a rather familiar accent. Perhaps it was the wine. Yeah, had to be. He let the two men slip to the back of his mind as he looked back down at the pendent, loosing himself in his thoughts Varric had put in his head.

"Hm, what's with those hooded men? Is it just me or do they seem everywhere lately?" Hawke picked up her cards, looking at them as they finished the game.

Anders shook his head. "Yeah, there have been a lot of them. Seen this one group hovering down in Darktown."

Varric shrugged. "There's been a good standing of them here all day... a rather serious bunch if you ask me."

Merrill looked up from her cards, taking in the group of men and eyes widening. "They were a few of them at the Alienage whispering, and then I accidently ran into another one on my way here. He was rather impolite." She pouted.

Fenris frowned, studying the two men again, before looking at the group he had noted before but brushed off, only then realizing something. "Actually, they've been around my mansion too."

Isabela stiffened in her chair, eyes narrowing on the men. "There have been a lot of them around the Chantry. I didn't realize it before because they aren't ever in more than a group of two or three with their hoods up... and I heard one talk when I was coming back here earlier today. I couldn't place his accent... but I thought it was familiar." She met his green eyes. "Fenris, he sounded like you..."

All of them blanched. Fenris straightened in the chair, watching the men with black cloaks more closely and clenched his fists. He could feel the metal of the pendent dig into his skin of his right palm, but ignored it. "Are you certain?"

She nodded.

Fenris cursed, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as he went to stand. There were about twenty of them including the two at the bar. They were far to polished to be normal hunters. All of them so orderly and as Varric put it... serious. He was right. All of them were sitting over in the corner, silently watching -no, studying the patrons in the tavern. Who hired them? With Danarius dead he thought that would be the end of it. He should have known better! He was never going to be free.

Before he could think of his next move, Isabela grabbed his arm, yanking him back down, her eyes on the two at the bar. He snarled at her, "Let go of me."

"Fenris, they aren't here for you. Relax." She didn't look at him, nor did she let go.

With little choice but to obey, he sat back down. "How do you know that?"

"They've had amble time to capture you here. You've been in here since I had left earlier... Why would they wait for us to all be here?"

Varric nodded. "Rivaini's right, broody, calm down."

"Why else would they..." his voice trailed off when comprehension dawned on him, before he breathed weakly, "Sam."

Isabela looked at him, anger in her golden eyes. "Exactly, why would they come after you? Danarius is dead. But she told us herself her  _masters_  are very much alive and I'm guessing they can afford a lot more than Danarius."

Varric snickered darkly, "Siren's got herself a fan club. A well priced one at that, just perfect."

They all stared at the dwarf, bewildered until Fenris offered, "It's his new nickname for her..." His look warned them not to ask.

"What are we going to-"

Isabela started only to be interrupted as a fight at the bar started. Some drunken patron got involved in Penny's defense and the whole tavern fell silent as one of the black cloaked men's voice echoed through the room, "Get off me, you imbecile," before punching the drunken man in the gut. He fell backward onto the floor and Penny went to him, making sure he was alright. It was no secret that the two 'secretly' had feelings for each other. The only secret part about it was between the two of them. They were worse than Avaline and her husband had been.

The other black cloaked man shook his head, then looked around the room and seeing all the eyes on him spoke up, voice booming, "Now that I have all your attention." He moved, walking more towards the center of the room, nut shells crackling under his black boots. "We are looking for someone. A woman, she's about this tall." He held his hand up about a few inches shorter than his own height. "Blonde hair and green-blue eyes..."

He looked from group to group, staring each and every person in the tavern in the eye as he continued listing more distinguishable features one could only name as being 'Sam'. The group of friends glanced at each other getting more anxious, worried that the patrons in the tavern would start speaking up. That they would point them out, especially when the man reached for his purse bag and began playing with a handful of coins that would have set most of them up for over a year.

"We have sources that say this woman is in Kirkwall, but if anyone has any...  _useful_  information on this woman, they will be generously paid." With the coins clinking in his hands, the friends stiffened, waiting for someone to rat them out.

As seconds then minute's passed, a few looked tempted to speak up. But it was the bad poet that everyone laughed at and had learned to ignore (and who continuously tempted to hit on Isabela) that finally broke the tense silence and stood with a big smile. "We know not a maiden by a blazingly golden portrait as yours, do we my doggedly happy men of this hanging man establishment? And dare I say even our great bard who has given us countless tales could not imagine such a maiden." His own gaze went around the room, resting on a few who had been close to giving them up. They bowed their heads, ashamed as they realized that while the offer of coin was good, they were a messed-up family of sorts and couldn't repay Varric's storytelling by giving him or his friends up to these mystery men. Not to mention that said group of friends were famous for beating the odds and leaving dead bodies in their wake.

Varric chuckled loudly, drawing everyone's attention. "My poetic friend speaks the truth." He nodded to the bad poet, raising his mug in a gesture of thanks. "But I will keep an eye out for this woman for you. May I ask what she has done to your person, serah...?"

The corner of the man's lips pinched down and he glanced over at the table of other black cloaked men. One of the elder men, with wild gray hair and matching eyes nodded solemnly. The man standing in the center of the room met Varric's eyes as he answered, "Captain Renaldus..."

With a swift fluid move of his free hand not holding his coins, he brushed his cloak back, revealing for the first time his armor and sword fully. He wore all black from his shimmering chest piece down to his boots, rimmed in a vivid red and gold. There was the emblem of the Tevinter sun on his chest, not surprising made of gold, but there was also what looked to be old script runes surrounding the symbol and on the edges of his shoulders, gloves, and boots. Runes that almost looked to glow blood red in the dim tavern lights. None of this, however, was something that should give Fenris much alarm. He had expected them of being Imperium knights, and having flashy expensive armor came along with their obvious importance. No, what gave Fenris a huge shock (almost like being splashed with a bucket of cold water) and a slowly growing bubbling sense of fear was due to the man's sword. Not only did the hilt have the sun, but a distinct curving 'A'. The emblem was one he hadn't seen all that often during his time as a slave, nevertheless it was one he would never forget.

"Eximius Captain of the Ebony Knights," Renaldus continued smoothly, grasping the hilt of his sword and shifting to a more regal stance, "Personal bodyguards to the late Archon and the Grand Council. And as for what this woman has done... she is the property of the Grand Council and..."

There was a collective gasp from the room. Everyone knew of the Archon's Ebony Knights. Feared them, and rightfully so. Varric, however, took this revelation as if someone had told him the weather and whistled loudly, effectively cutting the captain off, "The Archon's own guards came all this way for a mere runaway sla-"

"Silence!" the man sneered, furious that he had been interrupted and took back the room's attention as he sliced his hand through the air before clenching it into a fist, "Not only is The Orcae a slave, but is wanted for treason against the whole of the Tevinter Imperium by murdering his Imperial majesty Archon Nomaran and nine of the Grand Council, dwarf. An offence that will not be taken lightly..." His glare started moving to others in the room, searching for a weak point in all the startled looks he received. "And if we find any person in this room has given The Orcae shelter they will be dealt with as if they are traitors themselves." His eyes finally traveled back to Varric and then to each of them at the table. "We care not for your pathetic  _free_  city's laws. Borders mean nothing to us and nothing will stop the might of the Imperium from punishing The Orcae for the grievous insult she has committed."

Having been just as surprised to learn of the Archon's death as the rest of the tavern, Varric only barely managed to school his features back into carefree amusement. Fenris and the others however, were not as skilled. " _The_  Orcae. What does one have to do to get the title  _the_  in front of their name?"

Fenris stared at the man, pale, horrified clarity settling over him as a memory the word Orcae brought him took forefront in his mind:  _He stands away from the circled group of hooded Magisters. The sounds of their joined voices, chant like the once frantic beating hearts of their latest victims. Candle light flickers, casting sinister figures on the surrounding trees of the clearing. There is this... rancid sour smell, one containing the choking smell of blood, death and magick that hangs stagnant in the air. He keeps his head down. Unsure what else he is meant to do being so far away from his master's side as he is along with the other bodyguards. He glances sideways at the stoic emotionless group of servants. He has only been his master's guard for three months -two of which spent in utter agony healing from the lyrium markings that are still pink and tender to the touch- and he is not sure he wants to watch, having learn the hard way what atrocities these men and women commit in the name of power._

_Curiosity gets the better of him and he looks up as he feels the magick swell around him, the air stirs before suddenly snapping and the wind lashes at all of them, cold and biting. He brings his hand up as a bright light appears in the center of the Magisters. He is forced to close his eyes, bracing himself when there is an explosion where the light appeared only moments before, but the voices don't stop. Fearful that he let his master die, he pries his watering eyes open, trying to blink away the spots in his vision. What he sees, however, ceases all thought. Around the Magisters. Around everyone is this strange cloud like mist, hanging a foot above the ground and reaching up to his lower chest. This cloud substance left over from the explosion has a color, but he can't give it a distinct name seeing as it changes every second. He looks around, seeing the other bodyguards startled and awe filled expressions. But most if not all their eyes are on the center of the Magisters' circle and he follows their gaze._

_His breath catches. About a wagon wheel in size is a ball in the middle of the Magisters, floating and changing color just like the misty clouds. The ball merely hangs there, suspended, waiting for something and the Magisters continue to chant, eyes closed, heads bent. The ball begins to spin. Around-and-Around. Only to move so fast he can no longer tell its spinning. He jerks when the ball sparks, miniature lightning charges snake along the spheres surface. His eyes open wide, fear grasping him as he feels a force yanking at something deep within. The lightning spreads from the ball to the cloud, passing the Magisters harmlessly, only to coil around a few of the bodyguards standing next to him._

_Their mouths open as if to scream, but they remain silent, bodies shimmering before they fade away, starting at their heads all the way down to their toes. Disappearing forever as the lightning bounces back to the spinning ball. His legs grow weak. Around him other guards that haven't been struck by the lightening collapse. The misty clouds are receding back into the ball, and as he falls to his hands and knees the clouds are almost completely gone. Panting, he glances to his side, finding the already decaying corpses of the other guards who had fallen before him. But he is not alone in his struggles to survive, three others, all of them with akin lyrium markings remain._

_Gritting his teeth, he stares back at the burnt ground. He will not die here. Not after surviving the horror of his markings. This pain is nothing. Nothing at all._

_A deafening snap fills the now dead clearing and he looks up just in time to see the ball become a hole. A hole to where? He knows not. Only that the spiraling vortex that he sees is not normal or right. It feels wrong. This is his last thought before another blinding flash of light fills the clearing._

_Next thing he knows he is half awake and half unconscious on the dead earth. Voices. So many voices it's hard to make sense of what they say or who they are. Then his master speaks, "Good, my Fenris is alive."_

_"As are the others branded with lyrium... that is significant."_

_"Yes, yes. We will experiment. Perhaps this is the key we need to control The Orcae."_

_"And how do you suggest we experiment, there is only one Orcae," another voice, a woman, a Magister he realizes, counters angrily. They are all Magisters._

_"We can't control The Orcae as it is now, that's like evoking death itself."_

_One of them chuckled, "You mean herself...?" They all joined in, the sound ranking against his sensitive ears._

_"Enough," a man coughed, clearing his throat, "Get The Orcae, we need to get it away and secure it."_

Having never understood what was so funny about calling death a 'her', or the significance of what had happened that night, years ago Fenris had put this memory from his mind. Now that night and the meeting with the Council a few weeks following were starting to make sense. That new veiled companion that had sat next to the Archon had not been any companion at all, but The Orcae. The not so subtle looks of hope and fear the Magisters had been giving their leader had not been at him, but  _her_. And when the Archon had reached for her, resting his hand on her shoulder she had flinched, batting his hand away. Fenris had thought then that having a high-ranked companion such as her do that was odd... Even odder had been when no one punished her.

Now he knew. They had feared  _her_. She was The Orcae.

But just as they had feared her, she had feared them. He could recall that she had been chained to the Archon, the gold collar around her neck. Had smelt the tears in the air and remembered that she had been mumbling things to herself in a language he had never heard before (that now sounded familiar recalling it). This. This was why he had been suspicious of her. Subconsciously he remembered all this, had put it together before consciously grasping what was upsetting him. Now he knew. And now, instead of the hate and suspicion returning all he felt for Sam was shame for having acted as he had. He had been there when they magickally took her from her home. He had watched as they plotted and used her, watched as they made her into their weapon. Into their slave.

All those times he had seen the veiled woman sitting next to the Archon had been her. He had watched as she grew more docile. It was sickening. Never once questioning who this woman was or having even seen her face. There had been some respect for The Orcae, having heard of all the deaths it had caused... The deaths  _she_  had been forced to take during the Magisters 'demonstrations'.

"I thought The Orcae was a weapon. I never thought it was..." Fenris mumbled to himself, still too stunned to actually wrap his head around it completely.

As his voice trailed off, Captain Renaldus smirked maliciously, but it was the gray crazed older man who finally answered with disinterest, "Exactly as we wanted the Chantry to believe. Much harder to kill a symbolic object than living flesh."

Merrill took in her friends' serious faces, bewildered at what these men were talking about and whispered to Hawke, "Uh, am I missing something?" Anders and Hawke shook their heads, neither one exactly sure what was happening, but judging by Varric's, Isabela's, and especially Fenris' own expressions knew this all meant something solemn.

Varric put his mug down, crossed his arms and started to stroke his chin before saying, "You're telling me this weapon that has kept the Chantry from leading secret mission you and in worried knots after those rumored incidences they kept covered up, is this Orcae... and the Orcae is a woman? Interesting..."

Renaldus stared at Varric for a few seconds, somewhat dumbfounded, before catching himself. "Seems you know a lot more than I would have ever given you credit for, dwarf. Not many know of The Orcae and the tense truce she had forged between the Magisters and the Chantry. Even less know the name..." His gaze shifted to Fenris. "Unless of course, you happen to be a slave belonging to one of the Grand Council who brought her into this world."

Fenris gritted his teeth, the small group of highly outnumber friends becoming even tenser. He about to tell the captain off when the door to the tavern opened, three more cloaked men with their hoods pulled up to cover their faces entered the edgy atmosphere, heading straight for the crazed gray man who Fenris only then realized had to be a Magister (someone who had also been there that night). The leader of the three bent down, whispering something far too low for Fenris to catch.

Having spared the new comers only a glance, the Captain continued, "Considering you all already harbor one Imperium slave within your ranks, who is to say you are not hiding The Orcae?"

Keeping an eye on the three new men and the Captain, Fenris got to his feet, snarling back, "I am no slave! The man who believed himself my master is dead, his blood lie at your feet and his body rots in the sea."

The sting from the pendent as it dug even further into his skin reminded him that it was still there. He loosened his hold, not wanting to break it, but refused to look down and take his eyes from his enemy. The Orcae. No, Sam's necklace. She was no object. And while he wasn't certain on what they meant by calling her death (there was no way she could actually be death, right? No, that was preposterous...), he felt obligated to keep the pendent safe seeing as it was probably the only thing that she had from her life before being a slave. Before being forced to kill for these gutless fiends. Why else would she keep it?

"Hn, I see." The Captain shrugged, none-too-worried as he slowly put the coins back into his purse. "We had heard of him chasing down his wayward  _property_... how unfortunate that we have lost another Council member to the likes of you."

The crazed looking Magister laughed. "Though it does serve him right, fool thought himself on the rest of the Council's level..." He laughed, the sound insane to everyone's ears as it echoed off the walls.

Renaldus eyed the Magister before looking back at Fenris. "Perhaps we should capture the escaped asset for Danarius' coming estate sale?"

The group of black cloaked men laughed. Furious reached for his sword at his back with his left hand, but Isabela stood, stopping him as Varric, Anders, and Merrill rose to their feet ready for any attack. When the laughing died down, Hawke finally rose to her feet, palms flat on the table as she gave all of them a dark stony look. "As we said. No woman here goes by that description or name, but... even if she happened to be sitting right next to me I would be hard pressed to simply hand her over to the likes of  _you_  or your men who so carelessly disregard this  _pathetic city's laws_ , one being that owning slaves is  _illegal_." Straightening, she crossed her arms, giving them a toothy grin. "It is  _unfortunate_  that so many had to die, but in all likelihood, your  _Archon_  and those other  _Grand Council members_  most certainly deserved it."

At the blatant insult the group stood, all of them getting ready for an attack as they faced off. The patrons stood, pressing back into the walls, trying to get as far away from the conflict as possible and many even fleeing the tavern altogether.

"Captain," the gray crazed looking Magister spoke up, and everyone froze. He stood casually, straightening himself. "It is not wise to start a fight with the one who killed Arishok."

The Captain's eyes widened momentarily, looking her over more carefully before laughing. "You? You're the Champion of Kirkwall, a small woman single handedly killed the Arishok?"

"Don't let looks deceive you..." Hawke growled out, her right hand sparking to life with lightning. "You'll be nothing compared to him."

He stopped laughing abruptly. Giving her a hard look and becoming serious when he realized that maybe she wasn't someone he wanted to insult. They all had heard the rumors of the Champion of Kirkwall. Opening his mouth, he was about to tell her to hand over the slave when the leader of the three cloaked men spoke up. "Magister, allow me handle this minor issue while you and Eximius Captain Renaldus see what Magister Gallia wants."

The group of friend paled, staggering as if hit in the gut. That voice. That voice that echoed in the tavern room. It couldn't be him. Hawke grasped the table, feeling as if she was going to be sick. While the others questioned whether or not they were merely hearing things, she knew. Knew who it was. But how? Why?

The crazed Magister nodded. "Do as you will, Captain Garrus."

"But..." Captain Renaldus glared at the hooded figure as he started to protest.

"Now, Renaldus. The day is not getting any younger," the Magister snapped, pulling his hood up and started walking for the door. Men falling in line behind him.

Glowering at the floor, he turned from the group of friends and walked to the other captain. "Don't fail us Ferelden. You two, stay and help him," he barked at the two men who had came in with Captain Garrus, they had been about to follow the other Ebony Knights out the door.

"Of course, sir," the two said as they snapped to attention and bowed slightly.

There was this harsh creaking thud of the slamming door as the last man left. The noise reverberated off the walls of the silent room. A few flinched. No one relaxed, fearful that with such an action they would curse themselves and have the knights' return. But there were also three other distinct and important reasons no one relaxed. Those reasons were the three still hidden, cloaked figures in black that stood there, in the middle of the room. The two that had been ordered to help stood close to the Captain, their hoods opened in the direction of the Champion and her friends, while the Captain appeared to be looking at the ground. Or as far as anyone could guess seeing as his hood was pointed towards the stairs.

"Sir bartender, I suggest you get the rest of these good folk out of here..." Captain Garrus spoke, his voice stern, but not callous as the other Captain's. Hawke shivered, not tense due to fear, but anticipation. Knowing anticipation.

Looking between the two groups, Corff, barkeep and owner, shook his head and cursed. "Norah, Penny, Silvia. Get everyone still in here outside and round back." They nodded, jumping to his orders as he gathered his money stash and his most expensive bottles of booze, muttering to himself about how this always happened to him.

The room itself was practically holding its breath as Norah opened the door, checking before waving to a group closest to her and Silvia ushered the rest out while Penny helped the drunken man to his feet. With her arm around him to steady him they walked out together. With the last of the people gone, Norah and Silvia followed. Corff was at the door, holding it open with his back when he stopped, glaring at the ground.

Looking back at the hooded figures and Hawke's group, he sighed, "Please try to keep most of this place intact. I don't have enough to pay for  _another_  refurbishing." With his peace said, he left, letting the door close softly behind him.

No one said anything for a good minute or two. Time trickled by as if it were decades and not mere seconds. Then Captain Garrus moved, shifted on his feet before taking slow deliberate steps to their table that was four yards away. While Hawke knew for certain who the man was, name or not, the others were not as sure, bracing themselves for what could be an attack with each heavy thud of his black boots. His two subordinates followed a step behind, braced as well for an attack or ready at any moment to lunge forward if given the word.

However, no word was given for such a thing as Captain Garrus stopped without warning, silver flashing at his hands in the dim tavern light, appearing as if out of thin air, before turning just as swiftly and lashed out at them. Before anyone realized what was actually happening, two small and elegant knifes were peeking out from under the two subordinates' hoods. Crimson dripped as he pulled them out roughly, allowing the bodies to fall to the floor.

The group of friends was speechless, the tenseness leaving them for shock as the hooded Captain pulled out a rag and started to clean the blood from the blades. He turned to face them, walking the few more steps to the table. Casually he drew out a spare chair and sat down, propping his feet up onto the table. With the way he leaned back, the bottom half of his face could barely be seen, as well as the cocky smile that stretched from ear to ear. The silence was bad before, now it was deafening as they stared at him, blank faced and gaping mouths.

"Brother?" Hawke managed to croak out, licking her lips as she tried to find the words she had wanted to say to him for these long years he had been gone.

He didn't say anything at first. Simply cleaned the knifes until they sparkled. When finished he set them and the rag on the table, his mouth twitching with amusement. Leisurely he reached up and pulled the hood down from his head, confirming her and the others suspicions as they stared back into ocean blue eyes, only his raven hair was long and straggly, free strands from a braid jetting in front of those iconic Hawke family eyes. There was a mixture of feelings spreading around the group of friends. Relief, in that this man turned out to be no threat. Happy, seeing as a friend and brother had returned to them. Anger, that said man left in the first place (namely from Isabela and Hawke) or because said friend had joined up with Imperium Knights (Fenris). And the last most notable one was guilt (clearly from Isabela). These emotions and more stirred about, creating quite the cocktail of feelings for all of them, creating a storm difficult to stay afloat on.

Garret's gaze glinted, focused solely on his twin as he finally spoke, "Miss me?"

~~~~.~-~.~~~~


	5. Converging Dreams

\- 5 -

Converging Dreams

_Picking the knife up that had been knocked my way. I stood slowly. My hand trembling as fluid rolled down my cheeks, my arms, and dripped from the tip of the blade. The same goopy substance that covered me had soaked into the plush carpet that had once been a soft lavender blue and the still partly warm liquid squeezed through my toes as my feet sank further down. Around me the room was a frozen dungeon. Ice crystals formed a shell on the window. Icicles cascaded off any edge where one could and my breath came out in huge puffy breaths as I stared at her. Stared at the woman who was no longer just_ a woman _. She hovered over her husband's body, back to me and yet I could see her covered in his blood, like me, as it dripped off her body like a leaky faucet -only there were many leaky faucets and his life sustaining fluid was everywhere but in the fleshy vessel it belonged in, it should not be that much of a surprise that he was dead._

_I was too scared, too numb to grasp what the harsh artificial lights of the living room overhead fan bejeweled with razor ice crystals showed me. Even when I had witnessed the occurrence first hand I couldn't bring myself to move. So rattled was I that even the overwhelming smell of metallic blood felt distant -like I wasn't there, standing in the center of a blood bath. And yet I knew painfully that I was, could feel the bruises blossoming on my arms and back or the stinging sensation from the gash on the back of my head. Dull throbbing that kept me anchored to reality, no matter how much I wished it otherwise._

_A soft chuckle escaped her. At first only a murmur, but gradually began to grow until she threw her head back and the insane, crazed sound filled the room. Hearing Lillian laugh as she was, was not something I had ever needed to hear or anything I wanted to hear again. Yet, even I knew it was the low base tone that joined her bright alto, becoming a duel voice in one with the dark undertone that belayed the true madness from within her._

He _had taken over her body._

 _The menace that had been haunting me, haunting all of us relentlessly these past five months within this once peaceful dwelling had finally decided enough was enough, and attacked._ How had he passed all my protections? How!? _this thoughts and more swirled around in my mind. I had thought I had covered every base... But I never knew ghosts could_ take over _the livings' bodies!? Nothing online had said that! Still laughing Lillian, or rather Mr Shady as I had been calling the evil ghost, turned, looking over her bloodied shoulder to see me. I shuddered at the dark glint in her eyes._

 _I recalled then what I knew about this ghost from my research:_ Robert Jensen. Shot by police at age twenty-eight at Mr Zippy's Funland. Serial killer. Murdered seventeen girls between the ages of six and thirteen. Assaulted them. Mutilated them. Then killed them in the most brutal ways imaginable.  _I took a step back, the images of said dead girls springing to my mind. At nine, it had been difficult collecting this information. Especially the more sensitive details, but just like everything else I had managed to learn quickly this past year -you find that fear for one's life is a very good motivator. You grow up quick. You pick up things faster. And seeing that I was so young my brain was at the prime time to develop such skills. You know, what with those nerve bridges still growing faster than that of an adult and all (or so that article on brains I had stumbled upon online had said)._

_My thoughts ceased as Lillian turned, the laughter dying, but the wicked smile remained. Raising her hand, palm up, she moved her fingers in a 'come here' gesture. "Come closer, little girl. I promise not to hurt you."_

_I took a few steps back, my gaze going to my adopted father's body, then back to her, swallowing. The cold bloody wall greeted my back and I nearly screamed, startled. I couldn't go any further. I was trapped in this house with a murdering psychotic ghost who had my adopted mother's body hostage._

What am I going to do?

.~-~.

Fenris scowled at the ground, only to glance up at the newly returned elder brother Hawke as the ex-slave followed behind the twins and Isabela who donned the black cloaks of the two dead Ebony Knights. Licking his lower lip, his tongue brushed against the split lip that was still oozing blood. He winced. Add that to the list of things Fenris was not all that pleased with at that moment. Mainly he didn't like this plan, a plan that included them prancing around as Ebony Knights and him in cuffs. But he had once trusted this man, and he still trusted -uh... calling her simply Hawke wasn't going to work anymore with her twin back, was it?

Whatever. In his eyes she would always be 'the' Hawke. She was the Champion after all, while her twin had deserted them right before the troubles started with the Qunari. Being careful not to let his unlatched cuffs fall off, he reached up, rubbing his tender cheek.

The plan Garret had pitched to them as he had leaned back in his chair -smug and overconfidence coming off him in waves- Fenris had to admit was so far the best they could come up with. Using the two dead knights' cloaks, Hawke and Isabela would stand in as Garrett's back up, while they led him to the Chantry as the re-captured slave. For this ruse, however, that meant a little cosmetic appearances had to be fulfilled... In other words Fenris and Garret had to beat each other up a little while Hawke and Isabela dirtied their cloaks to make it look like they had been in a battle with him.

This plan would hopefully get them into the Chantry that by Garrett's account was swarmed with the Ebony Knights and into an unoccupied room from which they could search for Sebastian and Sam. However, after that the plan got a little unclear. Somehow they had to get Sam and Fenris out of there unnoticed, make it appear the two had fled through the city by boat, all without revealing Garrett's treachery. Why the last one, Garrett never said, but he stressed that it was important. In other words getting in would be easy, but getting out was going to be a nightmare. That was nothing new. It seemed with everything that involved the Hawkes that was always the case. Whatever way they got out of the Chantry, the plan was to lead the Knights to the others, who by that point should have gotten Aveline and Carver and set up an ambush at the docks.

At least in theory.

Garrett held up his hand, stopping them as they came to a corner. He casually peeked out, then motioned them to follow. Walking quickly, but not at a pace that would draw too much attention, they went to the next alley. Fenris felt himself tensing as they drew nearer to the Chantry. What if it didn't work? What if they had already captured her? What if. What if. What if! He was going to drive himself mad with all these what if's. Bringing his hand up, he touched his chest plate and relaxed, knowing that hidden beneath was Sam's necklace.

For some reason unknown to him he found strength in having it there. Maybe it was because Garrett had mentioned how important the pendent was for her mental stability or that it was the only connection she had to her life before being a slave? It made sense, that night two weeks ago while they were all playing card games, Fenris had seen her touching it a lot. Holding onto it as if it were her anchor. He did have to admit, there was something about the pendent, this air to it that made him want to keep it safe.

And keep the necklace safe he would, not merely because Garrett had told him to, but for Sam and its importance to her.

One thing that he kept coming back to and that was bothering him was how Garrett knew even this little bit about Sam. It only suggested that he knew more about the woman then he was letting on, but for now questioning him about how he knew could wait. They were going into a death trap for her and the last thing Fenris needed was to be caught up in his thoughts. Unfortunately this line of thought only led him to another...  _He_  was risking his  _freedom_  to save The Orcae. A woman associated with death in so many ways it was hard to separate the two. At the same time, he no longer found himself that suspicious of her -where if anything he should be  _more_  suspicious.

Why?

Moving through the back streets and alleys of the city behind the others, he found himself pondering this question other than focusing on the problem at hand. But he couldn't help it, because honestly, he wasn't exactly sure why he wasn't more suspicious, which was something that deeply troubled him. He knew one reason was because he felt guilty. Yet, overall he believed it was the prospect of freeing something... No, freeing someone the Magisters used as their shield and feared. The Magisters feared nothing. To finally have something they feared and maybe able to use it against them? He knew that such a thing would certainly be a marvelous thing to have. And that thing just so happened to be Sam.

This, of course, played into his guilt, thinking her as a weapon much like the Magisters did, but he still couldn't help being happy at the idea that freeing Sam could cause the Chantry to start attacking the Imperium again and may ultimately lead to their destruction. Regrettably there were a lot of  _ifs_  and politics that lead into that. Still, one could hope, right?

Then there was one more reason (one that took him by utter surprise). He felt a sort of camaraderie with her. Felt a bond with this woman he knew nothing about other than her being The Orcae and that she came from a strange land beyond the main lands of Thedas called America. He was starting to realize that while he didn't trust her, the fact that she was a slave like him from the Imperium did have a huge standing with him. And now that she was being threatened, whether or not he trusted her mattered not because he would not (could not) stand idly by while the Ebony Knights captured her and dragged her back into that Void of a life. Just the simple thought that he would, had him gritting his teeth and spitting curses.

He would rather die or lose his own freedom than allow someone to become a slave right before him. Which got him thinking:  _Maybe when I'm done here I can kill slavers and free those they think to enslave?_

With Hawke having moved on to Anders there was no real reason for him to stay. He didn't know why he still was here really. Okay, maybe he did. The tension between the Templers and Mages was growing every day. Sooner or later it was all going to explode like a Qunari black powder keg and Hawke was going to need his help when it did. He had a feeling what side she was going to choose when that time came, and while he didn't like it any he was going to remain by her side until she no longer needed him. That still, however, left his future a big question mark. What was he going to do with his life after Kirkwall? Now he may just have found his answer in Sam. Albeit in a round-about way.

Fenris came to a sudden halt before nearly ramming into Garrett's back. He blinked, looking around, wondering why they had stopped only to find that they were in the shadows of a smaller alley just before the stairs that led to the Chantry's square. Their hiding spot gave not only a perfect view of the square, but the Chantry as well. He let his gaze scan as the other's were doing, seeing at first only a few Ebony Knights, until he looked at some places where they could hide and found movement in the shadows of buildings. There were so many... forty... fifty? He couldn't wrap his head around it.

"Oh Maker!" Isabela whispered, drawing their attention.

Her gaze was directed upward towards the Chantry, a place he hadn't thought to look. Following her eyes, Fenris brow creased. At first wondering what the issue was until he saw what looked to be someone on a ledge on the left side of the building. His eyes widened momentarily, realizing it was Sebastian by the pieces of armor he could see. And that he was holding someone -an unconscious Sam perhaps?- as he peeked around the corner, looking as if he was waiting. Fenris' eyes traveled the square again, wondering if any of the Knights noticed. Guessing by how most were outside, he hoped they hadn't.

"So that's where they are..." Garret said softly, scratching his scruffy chin, "That'll make things both easier and difficult."

"Ah, Garret..." Hawke muttered, her gaze facing out towards the harbor, "I think this rescue is going to become a lot more difficult than that."

They all turned. What they found were dark billowy clouds in the distance, growing closer with ominous intent as lightning streaked along the surface.

.~-~.

_"What happened next?" he asks me, glasses flashing in the lamp light as he shifts, face casted in the shadows of the room, patiently waiting in that salmon colored chair._

_I stare up at the ceiling. Wanting nothing more than to forget that night or the horrors I became entangled in, but these people always make me relive it. Glancing sideways, I take in the new psychologist who is supposed to help me. He is a bald middle-aged fat black man with thick round glasses that make his eyes look bigger than what they really are. He looks like a bug. A ladybug? No, something manlier... a horned beetle perhaps?_

_It's my turn to shift, sitting in the classic psychologist lounging chair as I look back up at the rosy colored ceiling. By no means comfortable or relaxing. My oily scalp itches, my strawberry blonde hair they had cut short and plastered to my head, but with this white jacket they make me wear that bounds my arms in front of me, I can't scratch it._ Should I continue? _Up to this point I told him everything, just like the others. He is taking it better than most, but I think that has more to do with the fact that he is someone different than all the rest. What with him in his uniformed black suite, spiffy neat tie and shiny black dress shoes. There is this air about him that screams authority and power, in spite of his oversized physic that showed how much he loved McDonald's Bigmacs or buggy eyes through thick glasses._

 _Different or not, my eyes water and I recall all those others who said they would understand. That they would believe me no matter what I said. Only to drug me, lock me in that padded room, and leave me alone. Defenseless against all the crazy ghosts they themselves created. God, I miss Heather and my adoptive father, I miss my parents, I miss Grammy..._ I miss Dean _, the thought sends a shiver through me. Why did believing that everything would be okay turn out to be such a lie?_ Grammy, why?

_The man sighs, moving in my peripheral vision and I tense as I look sideways at him. "I told them the restraints were not necessary. Sit up, child. Let me get you out of that jacket."_

_Swallowing, I reluctantly obey, swinging my legs over the edge and moving upright. Ever since the courts sent me to this place, things have been slipping further and further downhill. And_ nothing _I do helps my position any. They punish me for telling the truth. First it was their drugs. Drugs that leave me mentally weak and groggy. Drugs that allow the ghosts to take control of me and do as they will. Those fires. Those attacks. None of it was me. But they never believe me. I just want it all to stop. I just-_

_These thoughts stop as he pulls keys out from his tidy jacket pocket and leans forward, slipping them into the keyhole. With a resounding click through the room, he unlocks the white jacket and helps me out of the bothersome material. Then casually sets the white material next to him on the arm of his chair as he looks back at me, linking his big nubby fingers together before him. Hugging my arms, I rub them, happy to be free after weeks of wearing the uncomfortable restraints. Maybe this man will be different?_

_"Better?"_

_I look up at him, peering through my disheveled hair that has grown to my ears and nod._

_"Please continue, Ms Hadenson." I blink, startled that he used my real last name and not my adoptive name. "I am extremely intrigued to hear what happened next. How did you survive this horrible encounter?"_

_Licking my lips, I shift my gaze to the flower printed carpet, my voice coming out in a weak whisper, "My back was to the wall and..._

_My heart raced in my chest as Lilian took a step closer, her foot making a_ slush'ing _sound as blood oozed up from the carpet. Horrified I watched as the blood at her feet began to bead up around her bare tanned flesh. Crawling up to the top of her feet like ants marching to battle before floating up into the air. Once there they began to combine, becoming quarter sized drops hanging stagnate around her. I didn't know what to do, mind freezing just as surely as the beads of crimson blood started to freeze. She took another step towards me, the ice blood following and shakily I raised my left hand while holding the dagger close to me in the other. The whispers of the dead told me to, beckoning me to concentrate all my energy into the palm of my outstretched hand. And I wanted to, I really did, but I was so scared. I didn't want to kill Lilith. Would this harm her? Bad mother or not she didn't deserve to die._

_She tilted her head, looking at my stretched out hand, not daring to come closer as something -uncertainty maybe?- crossed her features. I swallowed, her hesitation giving me confidence. "Get out of her body Mr Jenson, leave before I..." my voice trailed off, unsure what exactly it was I would do._

_Pulling the corner of her lips up into a vicious smirk, he caught onto my weakness. It was the only warning I got before Lilith took the remaining seven steps to me. I froze again, even as the whispers grew frantic, yelling at me. Snapping out of my stupor too late, I found her hand wrapping around my throat and the other seizing the wrist of my hand that held the knife. She pinned both to the blood frosted wall and slowly lifted up, making me forget about summoning any energy as I grasped the arm that was choking me with my free hand._

_"What was that,_ little girl _?" she purred darkly after leaning in, "How were you supposed to be stopping me?"_

_I gasped, air rushing out of my lungs as her hold on my wrist painfully tightened, only to pull it away from the wall and slam it back, forcing me to drop the blade. Letting go of my wrist, she held her palm down and the knife lifted up into her hand obediently. With both my hands holding onto her arm that was around my neck, I tried to concentrate, tried to will the energy into my hands. She simply choked me more, ceasing all thought as I fought to get air into my burning lungs. Fear overriding all sense and reason as I kicked and struggled._

I'm going to die. Die like those other girls... I don't want to die!

_Tears welled up at the corner of my eyes. Gaze going to my adopted father's body, I prayed someone, anyone would save me. I was only nine, how did anyone expect me to be able to fight this? I didn't even fully understand all that was happening._

_"Shhhh," Lilith's hand holding the knife came up, the blade directed away from me as she wiped a tear that managed to break free from my eyes with her thumb. "I promise, you won't die... at least not right away. No, I want to have hours upon hours of fun with you." Her tongue came out licking the top of her lip as she looked me up and down, only to lean in before that tongue came out licking the side of my bloody face. I jerked, a scream bubbling in my throat, but her hold on my neck stopped any sound. "Your fear... it's so tangible I can taste it, little wonder girl. Will you be different than the others? You surly feel different... Will you give me the satisfaction I've been craving since this hunger took hold of me?"_

Dean! Dean I need you.

_I started to cry with the thought, body trembling and feeling the hopelessness of it all settling over me. Even I knew my brother was not going to bust in through the frozen window and save me from this hellish nightmare. Dean didn't even know where I was, the adoption agency having refused to give my address to him. I hadn't gotten one letter since that day they separated us. Hadn't heard a single word from him. And all I could think about was how I was going to die without ever saying goodbye. Would he hate me for giving up? Would I go to heaven? These thoughts and thousands of others swarm in my foggy oxygen starved mind as Mr Shady directed Lilith's hand to gently drag the blade across my skin, pressing enough for me to feel it starting to bite in, but not actually cutting me._

_So lost in my head and thoughts, sure that I was going to die, I at first failed to notice the pressure shift in the room. Or how the wind was starting to pick up in the bloody ice tomb. No, it wasn't until a pale glow shimmered behind Lilith, casing around her husband's body and she turned to look that I realized anything was happening. A colorful curse escaped her lips only seconds before Heather sat up from the body, looking around before her eyes narrowed as they settled on Lilith and me. The truth of it was, when Mr Shady made his move Heather had decided to take over my adopted father's body. Somehow growing a backbone in the months we had been together. No more was she that frail insecure woman who killed herself due to those insecurities. We grew together, molded each other, and when it was clear Lilith made a horrible mother she stepped in to fill that role. And now she was one pissed off mother hen, glaring at the threat who dared to harm her hatchling._

_Lilith let go of my neck, facing the new threat, and I fell to my hands and knees, gasping and coughing for much needed air. As Heather stood, she moved a step back from the body, and reached in, literally grabbing a hold of my adoptive father's spirit and yanked him out with her. Wide-eyed like a frightened child himself, he looked around, pushing the ghostly spectacles up his nose. His gaze fell on his body, and if not already pale, I knew he would have turned white then. He looked at Lilith, then me. Recognition crossing his face before settling back on his wife's captive body, and anger kindled in his eyes. Lilith had been a horrible mother, but he hadn't been a bad father. He had candidly come to love me, had even taught me about computers (that in turn allowed me obtain all the information I had on Mr Shady)._

_"Sam, run," he ordered, his face becoming stern for the first time since knowing him and I hastily rose to my feet, legs shaking beneath me._

_Before I could even take a step, however, Lilith grabbed my arm, keeping me there. "Oh-no you don't." She shot me a glare, before turning it back onto the two ghosts that were filling the house with wind and static electricity. "What do you two think you can do? You have no way to touch me as you are now. The only thing you can do is watch, watch as I flay the succulent flesh from her bones." She chuckled to herself, giddily. The sound making my heart stop as shivers went through my bones."After, of course, I do everything else I have been dreaming to do to her since following her here."_

_Heather sneered, taking a step forward. "I don't need to touch you, bastard. There still is one living body here to control." She suddenly flashed out of view before appearing before Lilith, only to run right into my adoptive mother's body._

_I cried out in pain as her hold on my upper-arm tightened. The blood drops that floated around her formed needles points and the wind Heather stirred lashed them around Lilith in a vortex, narrowly missing the main parts of my body and leaving thin cuts when they whooshed by. A strangled scream escaped her, no longer only two voices but three as the battle raged inside the poor woman's body for control._

_Using my other arm, I managed to pry her hand off, rushing to the kitchen and for the back door. As I jerked the frozen handle that I knew wouldn't open, I looked around, searching for anything I could use. My gaze fell on the wooden block of knifes and I grabbed another before the sound in the living room made me look over the center island and to the bloody scene. Lilith's hands were on her head, grasping her hair as the rattling scream blared out from gaping mouth, shaking the whole house with the sound. And as it grew in volume I was forced to cover my ears._

_My adoptive father was at my side suddenly and when he touched my shoulder I jerked in fright, only to relax a little seeing his concerned face."Use the knife, Sam. Try and dig, chip the ice away from the door."_

_Nodding, I went to move to my feet, but my legs gave out. He helped me up, able to touch me like Heather could. If any part of him remained touching me he could interact with the living world. Realizing this, he picked up a knife as we hurried back to the door. His front pressing protectively against my back, together we started to whittle the ice away. Chunks that broke free fell to the floor, shattering into tiny fragments. Behind us, the two ghosts fought, Lilith's body stumbled into furniture, breaking an icy lamp._

_I ignored the pain. I ignored the sounds. I ignored everything, focusing solely on the ice that hampered my escape as the icy world around me wailed with the chilly wind._

.~-~.

The four of them walked through the center of the Chantry, bracing themselves for one of the enemy to recognize something was wrong and sound the alarm. Yet, as they started up the right staircase -while certainly getting some curious looks- no one said anything. No one uttered a word to them, or wondered why they were there after Garret flashed his face to the guards at the large ornate doors they first entered. To Isabela's relief there weren't as many as she feared inside, but that still didn't mean the numbers they faced were good. The tally she kept running in her head had their forces at sixty, and those were only the ones she had seen.

She had heard of the Ebony Knight before. Was one reason why she stayed clear of the Imperium. That and she wasn't too keen on the idea of slaves... But just like Varric, Isabela had caught wind of something keeping a truce between the Chantry and the Magisters. Knew not the name of the weapon the Magisters held, just that there was a healthy amount of fear and oddly enough, respect from the Maker's followers for the weapon. She had learned long ago to never get involved with the overzealous religious group (or at least she thought she had, she still questioned her sanity with that Qunari book...), which meant anything they feared had to be equally as bad.

_But Sam..._

Her heart clenched as she took the last step onto the second floor with Marian behind the Champion's brother and Fenris behind them. Sam was no weapon to be used and abused by men. Knowing now only slivers of this woman, the pirate could understand why she had been wary of them. Why she had been reluctant to stay anchored to any one place for any length of time. At the same time, she could also see that Sam was a lost little girl who only wanted a safe place to belong. She flourished around people. She wanted friends. And that was what was so heartbreaking about her situation.

Garret led them to the far door, ignoring all others and any Ebony Knights or clergy he passed. As he opened the door, holding it and letting them pass through, her golden eyes briefly met his blue. There was also the issue of this man that weighed heavily down on Isabela. Her gut squirmed as she tried to push her feelings for him away, walking into the room and turning to examine it. He closed the door, giving one last look outside before locking it and facing them. His sister was at the window, having opened it silently and was studying the ledge one of them would have to walk out on, as well as the coming storm. At the rate it was moving, they were surely going to get caught up in it.

.~-~.

_"That's it, Sam. Keep it up."_

_A particularly large hung of ice fell, splintering like the rest and I felt tears roll down my cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry..." I kept repeating to him, the realization that he was dead finally settling over me._

_"Forget about it, Sam. Don't stop." Something crashed loudly behind us and I stiffened in fright. He stopped, his arm going around me as he looked back. "Sam, don't stop, no matter what."_

_With that his ghostly form was no longer at my back and the knife he held clattered to the frosted floor, I whimpered, shaving off more ice from the door handle. The static grew in the air, the hair on my arms and the back of my neck prickling. The pressure and static increased substantially second by second until there was a loud zap'ing sound, but it was the loud boom that followed that made me scream and cover my head with both arms. Before I could even think to continue an unseen force lifted me from the ground, hurdling me back out into the living room and I hit the frozen couch, letting go of the knife and landed on the blood soaked carpet with a crashing thud._

_My eyes snap open. Images... too many images swarm my sight._

*Flash*

_There I am, groaning, slowly getting up after being thrown into the couch. Both ghosts flung out of Lilith's body from the spectral explosion. After her few seconds of stunned silence, she starts screaming, crying, scrambling to get away. The floor is slippery with the ice and blood, she falls, over-and-over._

*Flash*

_There I am, being thrown again into the far wall of the psychologist office by the huge black man who has deceived me into thinking he was a nice man. He is different, that is certain. Like me he is special, but while his powers are weaker than mine, he is trained. The ghosts attack me with his command, swarm and surround me like a pack of vicious starved wolves, snapping, frozen claws reaching out for me, threatening to tear me alive as crimson eyes glow in the misty blue fog of their forms._

*Flash*

_There I am, staring up into cold needle rain and green eyes, dangling from someone's outstretched arm. White markings flaring blue. I bump against hard stone, it's biting, painful. But ignore the pain as he says something... Something I can't make out._

_All are me, and yet none are. And I can only watch as each plays out._

*Flash*

 _My adoptive mother makes it to the kitchen. She is frantic, only to fumble for the phone. There is a crunch as she pries it free from the receiver and three more crunches as she dials for help. All I can think is,_ Why did I not think of that?  _And stare on terrified as Mr Shady gets to his feet first before Heather and starts for Lilith. She screams into the phone. Begging. Sobbing. She can see Mr Shady now after being possessed and stumbles back, trying to get away. He is laughing. So much noise, the wind his howling around me and I cover my ears as my hair lashes before my face. Sitting up, leaning with my back against the couch and grasping my hair from my face at the same time trying to protect my ears, I almost miss her slipping on the ice floor as she back-peddles. She falls in slow motion as she tumbles back, head hitting the corner of the counter top, and falling limp to the floor._

*Flash*

 _I scream. Arms shielding my head from their relentless attack._ Stop! Why won't they stop?  _They only do when he commands it. And like trained mutts they rear back with his booming voice that cracks through the room, standing back like pale graves in the dead of night. He walks through them uncaring. His black figure contrasting with the misty pale forms. "Do you give up? Will you go willingly?" he asks again. I am afraid, but all I can think of is Dean and that meadow. 'Never say uncle, Sammy.' Never. Not even for some evil man who works for the government. They want my powers. I gain some hidden resolve with this, wiping my bleeding lip with my sleeve. The ghosts shimmer as I speak with strength, "Never."_

*Flash*

_He lifts me up. Pressing me close, his arms around my waist, I flinch, his heated flesh like lava on my skin, searing. Another is here, I hear him talking to this man that holds me, but I don't look to see him. Instead searching, needing an escape. Everything is so jostled. My mind. The air. Light flashes, blinding, I turn my face into the chest of the one holding me, using him to protect my face form the lashing crystals falling from the sky. Something... is shifted, pulled tighter around me. Chains. They deem to chain me. Restrain me. My heart quickens. Races as I recall those other times others wished to restrain me. But I am patient. I bid my time. Wait until their guards fall. Slowly we move along the edge. I glance down, glance to where we are moving, glance at the man holding me. He is not looking at me, but I think he suspects me. We round a corner of the building. Light flashes again. I blink away the spots to find my escape: a window. Soon. Soon I will break from these chains._

*Flash*

_Tears shimmer in my eyes as anger flares up, knowing instantly Lilith is dead. The death is clinging to her body, pulling at me. I'm tired. Tired of all of this pain, this suffering. Pulling my hands slowly away from my ears, I shift, putting them on the ground and stand. With only me there with the dead I have nothing to hold me back. The whispers of the dead urge me on, and I feel the energy flooding through me. Beneath the ice, everything begins to decay and crumble. Mr Shady stands there, frowning at Lilith's dead body. Then he turns._

*Flash*

_Teeth aching from how hard I am clenching them, I raise first to one foot, and the other, standing up as tall as my small body can, glaring the black man with big buggy eyes down. The ghosts shimmer again. Whimpering, whining like troubled dogs. The whispers of the dead that left me with their drugs return, faintly at first, but grow, deafening like the breaking of dam walls. "No," my voice hardens. I feel the energy surge forward, fitting over and through me like that child blanket you never outgrow. The ghosts whimpers stop, their pain lessened. Everything around me starts to decay and crumble. Then they turn._

*Flash*

 _We reach the window, the wind flaring up as the man hands me off to another man. The second my feet touch the floor I push away, take a few steps only to find my body failing me as I tumble forward, weakened beyond reasoning._ Have they beaten me? _Memories flicker up with such thoughts and I snarl as a flaming warm hand tries to help. I hear the two others come in through the window. There is at least four here._ No, six...  _I have killed more._ Just have to get up. _I struggle to my feet. Hearing them talk behind me, not with loud blaring voices, but hushed frantic whispers. I try to pull the dead to me, and while the energy is weak and slow to answer, it does, flowing through me like a river. The dead return to me, giving me strength and I stand fully._

_Then I turn._

_The three memories converge, emotions and thoughts linking intersecting. The unnatural wind brushes against me in each, creating an eerie calm like the dead of night in graveyards with the pale moon high. Those present are affected. Dead and alive. They can feel this shift in the realm of 'now'. Shivering, shifting, glancing around or back stepping._

*Flash*

_I throw up my hand. My no longer trembling hand and push the energy out into my palm. "You won't hurt anyone else." Fear flashes in his eyes briefly before his form begins to flare brightly, Mr Shady screams, as do Heather and my adoptive father. I blink as the energy builds in my palm and their ghostly bodies, a wave of raw energy explodes out and I cover my face as they explode with it. I bring my hand down, tears in my eyes, realizing too late that I just destroyed the souls of two people who I cared about and loved._

*Flash*

_The ghosts, abused by this government man attack him, his scream is cut off midway as one tears his throat out. Blood gushing up, splattering the ceiling and walls, and me. I stare on, horrified. For the briefest of moments they had been under my control, but then I had released them to do as they willed. Released all the poor twisted souls in the building. They don't stop with the dead black man, they move on through the building like crazed rabid wolves that have not been fed in months. Slaughtering and killing all living they reach. And I realize too late that I killed dozens of innocent people by simply letting go of these twisted souls._

*Flash*

_These people wish to chain me. Use me. No. Use and abuse the dead. No more. I will not let them use me to get to the dead. We will no longer be weapons for the living. They speak, but their strange words I can't understand, and as one steps forward I back up, snarling more. One of the three men moves, grabbing the woman back, muttering something to her. Then turns to me and clearly says, "Remember who you are, Sam. Do you truly want to turn the dead on us?" Recognition of whom the man is, who these people are fill me._

_No, I don't want to do this._

_As the energy rushes out of me, the dead fading to the back of my mind, I feel the crashing exhaustion hitting me. Blackness creeps on my vision, swirling, and consuming before my knees give and a fall forward._

.~-~.

She gasped awake. Breath laboring as sweat trickled down her cheeks and she sat up right in her bed. The images and emotions of her dreams still lingering in her mind as she blinked in the darkness of the small room. Her elder sister had propped herself up on her elbow, staring at her, concern glinting in her eyes. Her raven hair gleamed in the moon beams that filtered through the curtains of the window. She shifted, sitting up and placing her bare feet on the wooden planked floor. Her forest green blanket slipped down her naked body, bunching around her waist as she moved.

"Another dream, Mae?"

Maeve nodded, lying back down with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling of their small hut in the woods. The wind through the trees comforts her, as did the light,  _tap, tap'ing_  on the roof. She brought her hand up, rubbing her forehead before weaving it through her sweaty copper hair. For longer than she could remember she had been haunted by these dreams of another. This Sam. Most of them having belonged to a world she couldn't even begin to describe, so foreign as it was from the world she lived. She also dreamed of this Sam in her world. Shared her torture, her anguish, her suffering. As of late Sam had been free, and she dreamt of the places this other woman traveled through as she fled. She didn't know what it meant. Neither did her sister.

Bridgett threw the blanket from her body, rising to her feet and going to the hearth and table where they cooked their meals and potions. Herbs hung from the ceiling, drying, most ready for use. She grabbed a mug from the cupboard and spooned clean water from the bucket on the floor into it. She warmed the liquid with her mana before reaching up and grabbing one of the herbs. Nytfoil. If Maeve remembered where she had hung it correctly, used to help ease the body and mind. Used to help bring peaceful sleep.

Her sister returned, her hips swaying as she strode to her bed and Maeve sat up accepting the steaming mug. "Drink," she said softly before turning back to the warmth of her own bed.

Sometimes Bridgett would sit with her, wait until sleep claimed her. Tonight was not one of those nights it seemed as her sister covered her flawless tanned skin and turned, facing the wall. Holding the warm mug, Maeve softly blew on the liquid. She couldn't blame her sister. The dreams were becoming more frequent, keeping both of them from sleep. If these dreams didn't stop soon, Maeve knew something was going to break.

~~~~.~-~.~~~~


End file.
